THE UNFOLDING 
UNIVERSE 



EDGAR L.HEERMANCE 




thus. BBjTJTI 
Book_ M 4^_ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT, 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 



THE UNFOLDING 
UNIVERSE 



BY 



EDGAR 



i/k 



EERMANCE 




THE PILGRIM PRESS 

BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO 



FOREWORD 

What is the universe of which we are a part? 
What is its meaning? What is our life, and whence, 
and whither? These questions are perennials; they 
spring up year after year without our planting. Not 
so with the answers. Man must wring them from a 
reluctant Nature by the sweat of his brow. 

This book attempts to sketch the contributions made 
by the various sciences toward a philosophy of the uni- 
verse. It grows out of the conviction, to which philos- 
ophy has been strangely blind, that the inductive 
method is the only method of thinking which is relia- 
ble or fruitful. Scientific study has opened up the rich 
fields of modern thought by driving observation and 
hypothesis abreast. Why should science have a mo- 
nopoly of such a team ? I offer this book as the outline 
of an inductive philosophy. 

The task of the sciences is to gather facts in their 
respective fields. The function of philosophy is sup- 
posed to be to interpret those facts and arrange them 
into a consistent whole. If philosophy is in bad repute 
in many quarters, it is because she has forgotten her 
place as the handmaid of the sciences. Learned men 
find it easy, sitting in their studies, to think what the 
universe ought to be like, or to build an eclectic philoso- 
phy, stone by stone, out of the ruined systems of the 

[vii] 



FOREWORD 

past. But — to change the figure — while the profes- 
sional philosopher has been spinning his gossamer theo- 
ries of matter and life, the physicist and the biologist 
have been studying matter and life and making remark- 
able discoveries as to their texture. Much the same is 
true in the broad field of psychology. The philosophy 
that men want today, I believe, is the philosophy 
which, on the foundation of what is known to us 
through the several sciences, builds its inductions as to 
the unknown beyond them all. 

Within two decades almost every science has passed 
through a period of revolution. We live in a new 
intellectual world. The attempts at inductive philoso- 
phy made a generation ago are as out of date as 
textbooks in physics or neurology or comparative my- 
thology of the same vintage. Doubtless some will say 
that it is too early to frame the new knowledge into a 
system of philosophy. But that same new knowledge 
is already modifying our thinking. In scientific books 
and papers of today, in scouting expeditions into the 
realm of science like those of James and Bergson, are 
to be found the beginnings of new and strange philoso- 
phies. I am reminded of the Scotsman who was asked 
to drink. "Naa," he replied, "it's twa early. Besides, 
I've had a gill a'ready." 

This book is not a treatise on the new knowledge 
in various fields. For that I must refer the reader 
to the eleventh edition of the Encyclopaedia Britannica, 
already out of date at many points, but supplemented 
by the Britannica Year Book; to the files of the best 

[ viii ] 



FOREWORD 

scientific periodicals; and to a well-selected library 
which has consigned to the lumber room most books 
published earlier than about 1895. I have not even 
attempted a bibliography. As a general rule, refer- 
ences are given in the footnotes only for direct quota- 
tions and for authorities on new or disputed points. 
I must feel rather than express our debt to the thou- 
sands of scientific workers in many lands. 

I have selected my material, merely by way of sug- 
gestion and summary, in preparation for the philosoph- 
ical discussion with which each chapter or part closes. 
This method lends itself to clearness and objectivity, 
if not to literary brilliance. The very fact that the 
general reader is likely to find the first chapters hard 
reading, because of his lack of familiarity with the 
subjects treated, shows the necessity for summarizing 
recent discoveries before their bearing can be discussed 
intelligently. Scientific slang is avoided wherever 
possible. 

With the exception of the historical and sociological 
sections of the book, my material has necessarily been 
gathered at second hand. It is no longer possible for 
one man to attempt Spencer's task of being a specialist 
on all subjects. I have tried to follow what seemed to 
me the best scientific thought in each field, not being 
afraid of novelty but avoiding fads. Errors of state- 
ment and of judgment are inevitable. My hope is that 
they will not be of such a character as seriously to 
affect the argument. In the chapter on The Universal 
Energy I have attempted some generalizations of my 

[ix] 



FOREWORD 

own, simply because the generalizations which the 
physicists ought to be giving us were not forthcoming. 
In the later chapters, notably that on the classification 
of religions, I have marshalled my own material, in 
order that, through fresh inductions, I might avoid 
becoming entangled in some current terms and theo- 
ries which appear to me erroneous. If the reader is 
stimulated to follow up this or other parts of the new 
knowledge, I shall be glad. But my primary purpose 
is to interpret that knowledge and stimulate others to 
the task of interpretation. 

Once more, this book is not a work in theology, 
though I make bold to think it has some bearings on a 
needed reconstruction of theology. The book is the 
by-product of a busy pastorate in the West, which has 
kept me in touch with humanity in its religious and 
social needs. But if charged with a theological bias, 
I think I can honestly plead "Not guilty." As far as 
was humanly possible, I have avoided all preconceived 
ideas as to what were the facts of the universe, or how 
they were to be interpreted. For much of the seven- 
teen years during which the book has been in prepara- 
tion, I was not sure of the final positions to which I 
might be led. I have tried to keep the door of my 
mind open, or at least to leave the latch-string hanging 
out. I ask the same courtesy of the reader. 

Further than this the book must serve as its own 
introduction. If my sketch-plan of the universe is not 
full enough, O fellow sophist, I urge you to fill it in 
from your better equipment or your more abundant 

[x] 



FOREWORD 

leisure. If my philosophy does not satisfy you, give the 
world a truer or a broader one, along the inductive 
lines I have suggested. A philosophy along any other 
lines is mere playing with words. A priori thinking, 
like higher mathematics, will continue to have its place 
as a mental discipline and as a threshing out of possi- 
bilities. But the possible is only the husk of the real. 
In method let us be empiricists. The facts may lead us 
in the end to the position of idealism, but if so it will 
not be, to use Hegel's immortal phrase, "an idealism 
shot out of a pistol." 

Of the many friends who have assisted me by criti- 
cism and suggestion, Professor Arthur W. Ewell of 
the Worcester Polytechnic Institute and Professor 
Norton A. Kent of Boston University deserve my spe- 
cial thanks. They should not be held responsible for 
scientific deadwood still unpruned. 

International Falls, Minnesota 
September ioth, 1914 



[xi] 



OUTLINE OF CONTENTS 



INTRODUCTORY 

CHAPTER I 

KNOWING THE WORLD 

Ideas valid only when concretely applied, 3. Theories 
must be derived from observed facts, 4. The possibility of 
knowing, 5. A typical scientific induction, 6. Philosophy 
must adopt the inductive method, 7. The relativity of 
knowledge, 8. Philosophical scepticism, 9. Knowledge an 
adjustment to the external world, 10. Kant's view of the 
idea of space, n. Space as interpreted through child and 
animal psychology, 12. Stages of mental adjustment: per- 
cepts and their objective validity, 13. Recepts, 15. Concepts, 
17. 

PART ONE. THE PHYSICAL 

CHAPTER II 

THE STARS 

The physical group of phenomena, 21. The stellar uni- 
verse of limited extent, 22. Number and distribution of the 
stars, 25. Classification, 27. Double stars, clusters, varia- 
bles, 28. The nebulas, 30. Stages of stellar evolution, 31. 
Action of tides, 33. Meteoric hypothesis, 34. Electrons, 35. 
The life of a star, 35. Contribution of astronomy: the 
world a unity, 36. A finite universe, 37. 

CHAPTER III 

ELECTRONS 

The atomic theory now proved, '39. Structure of the atom: 
discovery of electrons, 39. Radioactivity, 42. Atoms in the 
making, 46. Mass of the electron is due to its motion, 46. 
Is the mass of the positive ion electro-magnetic? 47. 



F ™ 1 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

CHAPTER IV 

IS THERE AN JETHER? 

The aether theory, 49. Is the aether in motion? 50. As- 
sumptions of the Newtonian mechanics, 51. The principle of 
relativity, 52. Mass now regarded as a function of the 
velocity, 54. Collapse of the aether theory, 55. Rejection of 
the idea of infinity, 56. The new mechanics and its units, 
56. The category of number, 57. Space as measurable rela- 
tion, 57. Time as measurable sequence, 59. A limited uni- 
verse and the conservation of energy, 60. 



CHAPTER V 

THE UNIVERSAL ENERGY 

Classification of forces: A. Electrical attraction, 61. B. 
Magnetic attraction, 61. C. Pressure of radiation, 62. D. 
Molecular attraction, 62. E. Gravitation, 62. Forms of 
kinetic energy: 1. Electrical, 63. 2. Magnetic, 64. 3. Radi- 
ant, 64. 4. Molecular, 64. 5. Molar, 65. Law of the con- 
servation of energy, 67. Is the universe running down? 67. 
Probable identity of matter and force, 68. The universal 
energy, 69. Uniformity and intelligence, 70. Physics can 
tell us nothing as to plan and purpose, 72. 



PART TWO. THE ORGANIC 

CHAPTER VI 

THE EVOLUTION OF LIFE 

The physical history of the earth, 75. Simplest existing 
forms of life; the vegetable kingdom; higher protozoa, 78. 
Metazoa, 81. Vertebrates, 83. Mammals, 85. Species and 
varieties, 87. Physical and social environment, 88. Wide 
range of experimenting in nature, 89. The origin of species: 
weakness of Darwin's summation theory, 90. Mutations, 91. 
Mendel's law allows mutations to survive cross-breeding, 92. 
True place of natural selection, 93. Origin of mutations 
still unsolved, 94. The gradual perfecting of species, 95. 
Evolution a grand laissez faire, 96. Changes on earth's 
surface due to the presence of life, 96. 



[ xiv ] 



OUTLINE OF CONTENTS 

CHAPTER VII 

THE CELL 

The cell as the unit of organism, 97. The cell-body, 97. 
The nucleus, 98. The centrosome, 99. The process of 
cell-division, 100. Conjugation of germ-cells, 100. Ripen- 
ing preparatory to conjugation, 102. Distinctive features of 
germ-cells, 103. Regeneration, 105. No biological units 
smaller than the cell, 105. Relation of the cell to the or- 
ganism, 106. Reactions in solution; colloids and crystalloids, 
107. Metabolism of plants, essentially constructive, 108. 
Animal metabolism, both constructive and destructive, 111. 
Chemical changes following the death of the organism, 113. 
Organic heat; carbon, 113. Nitrogen, 116. Making albu- 
mins in the laboratory, 117. 

CHAPTER VIII 

HOW FAR DOES CHEMISTRY CARRY US? 

Chemistry the key to biological problems, 118. Effect on 
the cell of the surrounding medium: Loeb's experiments, 118. 
Work of Carrel and Burrows in cultivating tissues outside 
the body, 121. Ross discovery of the chemical basis for 
cell-division, 122. Anti-bodies and immunity, 123. Hor- 
mones, 124. Enzymes and their effect on chemical reaction, 
125. The cell as an energy-transformer, 127. What is life? 
The characteristics of a living organism: 1. Active move- 
ment, 128. 2. Metabolism, the control of the necessary 
chemical changes, 131. 3. Regeneration, 132. 4. Variation, 
133. Provisional definition of life, 134. 

CHAPTER IX 

THE ORIGIN OF LIFE 

Exteme complexity of even the simplest forms of life, 135. 
No evidence for spontaneous generation, 136. Chance as- 
sembling of an albumin molecule ruled out by the doctrine 
of chances, 136. Life has not been brought to the earth by 
meteorites, 137. The conditions of protoplasmic life; not 
fulfilled by any other planet of our system, 138. Mars; 
criticism of Lowell's argument; could only produce low 
vegetable forms, 139. Existence of habitable planets in 
other systems not probable, 140. Return to question: What 
is life? Current theories, 142. Life resembles a force in 

[xv] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

its transformation of energy, 144. There is life in the 
universe, interwoven with the physical, 145. Tne individual, 
146. Question of plan and purpose beyond the scope of 
biology, 148. Life as evidence for a control of the physical, 
148. 

PART THREE. THE PSYCHICAL 

CHAPTER X 

THE EVOLUTION OF MAN 

Relation between psychology and biology, 153. Evidence 
that the human species is descended from lower forms: (a) 
Comparative anatomy, 153. (b) Embryology, 154. (c) Ru- 
dimentary organs, 155. (d) Comparative psychology, 156. 
Mental life of lower organisms, 157. Increase of automatic 
action in higher stages, 158. What distinguishes man from 
the other anthropoidea, 162. Importance of the social in- 
stinct, in the development of speech, 164. Question of the 
antiquity of, man, 165. Links discovered, 167. Further 
mutations in the human species: the three races of Europe, 
167. Evidence that race or inheritance makes no difference 
in educability: the Australian aborigines, 170. Summary, 
173- 

CHAPTER XI 

THE CENTRAL NERVOUS SYSTEM 

Principal parts of the vertebrate nervous system, 175. 
Functions of the various parts, 178. The cortex: areas 
where sensory and motor nerves terminate, 181. The un- 
mapped areas; Flechsig's theory of association centers, 182. 
The evidence from studies in aphasia, 182. Development 
of speech centers in one or other hemisphere through edu- 
cation, 183. Some substitution of function possible, in the 
same hemisphere, 186. 

CHAPTER XII 

NERVE-CELLS AND REFLEXES 

Neurones and their outgrowths, 188. The neurone as a 
specialized conductor, 191. Rate of conduction, 192. The 
reflex-arc: the receptor, 192. The sensory neurone series, 
195. The motor-neurones, 196. Example of scratch-reflex 
in dog, 197. The coordination of the nervous system by 

[xvi] 



OUTLINE OF CONTENTS 

the higher centers, 199. Leading segments; distance recep- 
tors, 200. Problems suggested by the training of the nerve- 
cells in the cortex, 205. Nothing in the individual brain- 
cells to explain the mental processes of the higher animals, 
206. 

CHAPTER XIII 

THE HUMAN MIND 

Mind as the fused and cooperative life of the nerve-cells, 
207. The study of human behavior. What the normal 
human mind is able to do: perception; conception; speech; 
memory; self-consciousness; imagination; emotion; reason- 
ing; volitional control, 208. Laws governing man's response 
to environment, 213. Mind as the specialization of the 
organism's active adjustment to environment, 215. Question 
whether brain or mind is fundamental ; biological evidence 
pointing toward the latter view, 215. Education of the talk- 
ing lobe of the brain an example of mental control, 217. 
Further evidence furnished by the subconscious, 220. Pro- 
visional definition of mind, 221. 



CHAPTER XIV 

THE SUBCONSCIOUS 

(a) Intuition: in special crises; the mathematical prod- 
igy; the musical prodigy; genius, 222. (b) Sleep. General 
features, 228. Activity of the mind in partial consciousness, 
230. Dreams, 231. Waking hallucinations, 233. Motor 
suggestion; somnambulism, 233. (c) Hypnosis, 234. Possi- 
ble physiological explanation, 235. Physical effects of sug- 
gestion without hypnosis, 236. Example of stigmatization 
under hypnosis, 237. Memory in the hypnotic state, 238. 
Patient not an automaton, 240. (d) Double and multiple 
personality: case of Felida X, 241. Thomas C. Hanna, 243. 
Alternate personalities in the trance medium, 244. (e) The 
subconscious. Summary of what has been learned regard- 
ing the subconscious mind, 245. Morality and intelligence 
of the subconscious, 250. Relation of the subconscious mind 
to the physical organism, 251. (f) Telepathy. Transfer of 
tastes, pains and visual images, 254. In hypnosis, 255. 
Telepathy at a distance, 256. Apparitions; may be given 
a telepathic explanation, 257. The same true of clairvoy- 
ance, 259. 



[ xvii ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

CHAPTER XV 

A NEW DEFINITION OF PERSONALITY 

Is the vertebrate merely a colony of segments? 261. The 
unity of the organism is essentially psychical, 263. The 
light thrown on problem of personality by study of the sub- 
conscious. Person of the older psychology remains a fact, 

264. Ego not as fixed a quantity as was formerly supposed, 

265. Janet's experiments show personality in the making, 
265. Personality in the ordinary sense the playing of a 
part, 266. The deeper "mind" ; its characteristics, 267. Its 
control of the physical, 269. When does the individual begin 
and end? 269. Some evidence that mind is 1 independent of 
the physical organism, 270. Summary of psychology's con- 
tribution: there is mind in the universe, 271.' Possibility of 
a cosmic mind in communication with the minds known on 
this planet. Proof of this is beyond the scope of psychology, 
272. 

CHAPTER XVI 

THE HIGHER LIFE OF MAN 

Increasing richness of reality due to the coming of man, 
274. With human species, evolution becomes predominantly 
psychical, 275. Social progress represents the accumulation 
of ideas, 275. Sketch of the stages through which society has 
passed: (a) The horde, 276. (b) The metronymic tribe, 
277. (c) The patronymic tribe, 278. (d) The patronymic 
confederation, 278. Development of civilization, 279. New 
accumulation after the barbarian invasions, 281. The mod- 
ern industrial era, following the introduction of steam, 282. 
Inventions were due to greater opportunity for the individ- 
ual, 282. The gradual enfranchisement of the masses, 283. 
Jesus' contribution to democracy, 287. Earlier ethical accu- 
mulations, 288. Hebrew law and prophecy, 290. The 
achievements of the race in individual character, 291. 

CHAPTER XVII 

THE SHADOWS OF HISTORY 

Estimate of the total number of human beings; small 
proportion of "the elect," 293. Physical degeneration due 
to civilization, 294. Economic conditions in the United 
States, 303. The Pittsburgh Survey, 304. Wages of women 

[ xvfii ] 



OUTLINE OF CONTENTS 

workers, 306. Child labor, 306. New York tenement 
houses, 307. Distribution of wealth, 308. The idle rich, 309. 
Must we expect another French revolution? 311. The 
higher life of man a fact, 311. Rapid economic changes in 
the last century; time is required for readjustment, 312. 
Man likely to become an increasingly important factor for 
philosophy, 313. 



PART FOUR. THE SPIRITUAL 

CHAPTER XVIII 

THE SOCIAL STAGES OF RELIGION 

Comparative religion; system of classification proposed, 
317. (a) The primitive stage; tribes of north-central Aus- 
tralia, 318. The Dakotas, 322. (b) Democratic clan organ- 
ization. Samoan islands, 326. Fiji, 331. To this stage is 
due the association of gods and animals, 332. The goddess, 
332. (c) Patronymic stage, reshaping religious ideas on 
model of paternal authority, 1. Household worship, 334. 
Worship of ancestors. Amazulu of Natal, 335. 2. Female 
divinities becoming male, 337. 3. Rise of tribal or district 
gods. Baganda of Central Africa, 337. The Amazulu 
again, 338. (d) Patronymic confederation and rise of a 
national religion. 1. Another set of gods added: Tahiti, 
339. 2. Single god or pair of gods. The Semites, 342. 3. 
Syncretism. Ewe peoples of West Africa, 342. Greece, 
344. Babylonia, 345. 4. Conflicting deities arranged in a 
pantheon, 345. (e) Stage of individual leadership, 346. 



CHAPTER XIX 

RELIGION AND PSYCHOLOGY 

Religion is an accumulation of ideas, 348. Assumption 
that a spiritual world exists, 349. Beliefs constantly chang- 
ing) 35°- Persistence of rites and customs, 351. Many reli- 
gious ideas originate in experience. Example of a theoph- 
any, 352. Survivals apart from experience, 352. Ideas of 
a spiritual world remarkably persistent, 353. Presumptions 
of psychology have become the working hypotheses of reli- 
gion. Our discussion necessarily limited to the existence of 
a cosmic mind, 353. Evidence of communication must be 



[xix] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

sought in the subconscious rather than the conscious, 354. 
General rules of evidence, 355. Use made of the religious 
experience of Jesus; the sources, 356. 

CHAPTER XX 

COMMUNION 

Mysticism, 359. Strongly developed in Jesus, 359. Paul, 
362. Plotinus, 363. Ruysbroek, 364. St. Teresa, 364. Great 
mystics were not unpractical dreamers, 366. The Puritans; 
George Fox, 366. Henry Ward Beecher, 367. Mysticism 
common in religious >experience, 368. Examples of an un- 
usual sense of the divine presence, 369. Mysticism in other 
religions; among positivists, 370. Prayer, the establishment 
of a wider self. Prayers of childhood; growing discrimina- 
tion, 372. Contemplative tendency in prayer: adoration; 
absorption; peace; nervous recuperation; comfort in sorrow; 
thanksgiving; renewal of faith and love, 374. 



CHAPTER XXI 

INSPIRATION 

Increase of knowledge: a case of religious clairvoyance, 
380. Clairaudience: Hebrew prophecy, 381. Jesus, 383. 
Paul, 383. A case of personal discovery of new truth, 383. 
George Fox and the doctrine of the inner light, 384. 
Beecher's loss of self-consciousness in preaching, 385. Prayer 
a help in utilizing one's subconscious resources, 386. Prayer 
for practical guidance, 386. Prediction of future events: 
George Fox again, 387. Isaiah and the inviolability of Jeru- 
salem, 388. The prophetic statesman; Jeremiah, Jesus, 389. 
A warning before the outbreak of the Jewish war; other 
examples of premonition, 390. Inspiration in any sphere 
represents the emergence of subconscious impressions into 
consciousness, 391. 

CHAPTER XXII 

PHYSICAL EFFECTS 

A case of spontaneous self-cure, 392. Self-cure in an- 
swer to prayer, 392. Cases from Lourdes, 393. Christian 
Science, 395. Non-religious cases; a cure by hypnotic sug- 
gestion, 396. Cases of suggestion without hypnotism, 398. 

[xx] 



OUTLINE OF CONTENTS 

No way of determining whether the divine mind has any- 
thing to do with it, 398. Prayer a therapeutic agent of 
great value, 399. George Miiller and his prayers for 
money, 400. The prayer for protection; its psychological 
value, 402. 

CHAPTER XXIII 

CONVERSION 

Conversion a distinctively adolescent phenomenon, 403. 
The physical and mental revolution during adolescence, 404. 
Motives and forces in conversion, 409. Relation between 
conscious and subconscious elements, 412. Results of con- 
version, 413. A process of social adjustment; religion the 
determining factor, 413. The two types, 414. Spiritual illu- 
mination: David Brainerd, 416. Horace Fletcher; Ralph 
Waldo Trine, 417. Moral transformation: one of Begbie's 
cases, 419. Represents the sudden appearance of a new 
personality, 422. Quieter reconstruction in adult life, 424. 
Religious growth without definite transitions: Edward Ev- 
erett Hale, 424. Prayers for forgiveness and moral im- 
provement, 425. Religious faith the most powerful moral 
instrument, 427. Religion taking the form of practical ac- 
tivity; the teaching of Jesus, 427. Loss of the social empha- 
sis; its revival in modern Christianity, 429. Modern social 
crusade essentially religious, 430. 

CHAPTER XXIV 

THE RELIGIOUS HYPOTHESIS 

Does religion give evidence of a cosmic mind? 432. The 
religious hypothesis; not a survival, or pathological, 433. 
The contribution of religion to the life of man, 435. Is God 
objective? 437. Review of the indirect evidence furnished by 
the last four chapters; man's adjustment to the universe, 
438. Objectivity of religion the condition of social prog- 
ress, 441. Religion the key to the meaning of the universe, 
443- 

CHAPTER XXV 

THE REPUBLIC OF GOD 

1. The cosmic mind is active. Cooperation of God in 
man's mental life, bodily processes, adjustment to environ- 

[xxi] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

ment, reproduction, shaping of Providence, moral struggles, 
social service, 444. 2. The cosmic mind as purposeful activ- 
ity; the perfecting of humanity, 448. The return to a geo- 
centric universe, 449. 3. God one, not many; identical with 
the universe, 450. 4. What is meant by the personality of 
God? 452. 5. Is God limited by space and time? 453. 6. 
Relation of the cosmic mind to the units of biology, 453. A 
parable of the evolutionary process, 455. 7.. Relation be- 
tween the cosmic mind and the minds of men; a pluralism, 

456. God's concern is with the perfecting of the individual, 

457. But through the evolution of a higher social order, 

458. 8. The mind of man: the waking personality and its 
adjustment, 459. The deeper mind, not dependent on a 
physical organism, 459. 9. The spiritual universe: a higher 
social order beginning, 461. The cosmic mind organizing 
and limiting itself, 461. The challenge of an uncompleted 
universe, 462. 



[ xxii ] 



CHARTS AND ILLUSTRATIONS 

Table of Radio-Elements 45 

Chart Showing Conversions of Kinetic Energy . 66 

General Table of Geologic Time Divisions . . 76 

Diagram Showing Development of Vertebrate 

Nervous System 176 

Sketch of Typical Neurone 189 

Diagram Illustrating Neurone Series . . .194 

Diagram Illustrating Scratch-Reflex in Dog . . 198 



[ xxiii ] 



INTRODUCTORY 



CHAPTER I 

KNOWING THE WORLD 

T T OW do we know? This question confronts us 
-*- *■ at the beginning of any serious work in philoso- 
phy. It demands an answer before we proceed. The 
thinker must have a working theory of knowledge, 
clearly defined in his own mind and plainly expressed 
for the guidance of his readers. 

My position may be summarized as follows. The 
ideas or concepts which we use in our thought have 
their basis in our experience of the external world. 
They represent habitual occurrences, relations and 
characters that have come under our observation. The 
breadth of our experience makes such abstraction nec- 
essary ; the symbolism of words renders it possible. The 
concepts represented by words are objectively valid 
only when concretely applied, since the process of 
abstraction has been merely for convenience in han- 
dling the great mass of material. 

Our mental faculties have developed by adjustment 
to the spacial world in which we live. Within that 
world, therefore, we are powerful. Throughout that 
world, knowledge is the correlate of being. Whatever 
is, is knowable, in a sense, simply because it is. All we 
need is the vantage-point from which to observe it. 

[3] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

Whether we can penetrate beyond that spacial world 
remains to be seen. 

To the philosophy which discards the a priori and 
reasons solely from experience, the actual is the only 
possible, though the actual may have bounds beyond the 
widest horizon of human observation. This principle 
follows from the detailed study we are about to make 
of the process of; human thought and the validity of 
ideas. It should be stated in the form of a warning 
as we start our introductory chapter. If we heed this 
warning, we may not form as many or as elaborate 
theories, but we shall know fewer things that are 
not so. 

The abstractions which we call ideas are precious; 
we must be extremely careful in our use of them. The 
actual is, legitimately, the sole basis of the hypothetical. 
The material of our knowledge is derived from ob- 
served facts. From the observed facts, also, must be 
derived the hypotheses by which we seek to arrange and 
explain this material. In inductive philosophy, as in 
inductive science, while in a sense there is only one 
canon — that any hypothesis is legitimate which can 
make good — at the same time there is a law of parsi- 
mony that forbids us to form any theory to which the 
facts themselves do not compel us. The theory which 
we form may be a trial theory that further study may 
lead us to reject, but it must be a hypothesis honestly 
derived from the facts before us. It cannot be mere 
guesswork, a toying with possibilities, the superstition 
of some "phlogiston" escaping in chemical decomposi- 

[4] 



KNOWING THE WORLD 

tion, or of the mind secreting thought as the liver 
secretes bile — a fancy that the moon is made of green 
cheese, or that a book of philosophy is necessarily as 
dull as its first chapter. The reader who is not inter- 
ested in theories of knowledge is advised to pass over 
the remaining sections, in which I develop the position 
outlined above. 

How do we know? Our point of view is suggested 
by the form given to the question. I do not ask: "Is 
it possible to know?" That we do know, in some 
sense, that we reach a satisfactory degree of certitude, 
is evidenced in various ways. For one thing, language 
proves it. All the higher languages have words for 
"knowing" and "knowledge." Again, our daily life 
implies knowledge. Man has that power in action 
which comes only from mental certitude; he can be- 
cause he kens. A man "knows" that the sun will rise 
tomorrow. His experience has taught him that it has 
always done so; he has drawn the conclusion that it 
always will. He adjusts his life and work accordingly. 
And the theory works; it is constantly confirmed by 
new facts of experience. What he calls the sun does 
do what he calls rising on what he calls the morrow. 
Our whole life is built upon this and similar items of 
knowledge. Without them we should be powerless, 
afraid to move, unable to do a stroke of work.* 

The progress of science is a progress in knowledge, 
in certitude. Ask the scientist : Is it possible to know ? 

* Though developed independently, this position is prac- 
tically identical with that taken by Prof. Dewey and his 
co-workers in their Studies in Logical Theory, 1909. 

[5] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

and he will answer, if he deigns to answer at all, by 
pointing to the world's libraries, its laboratories, its 
factories, its pneumatic drills and wireless telegraphs, 
its geologic time-scale, its spectrum analysis, its predic- 
tion of eclipses, the evolution of the horse's hoof or the 
process by which a cell's nucleus divides. And the 
knowledge of science, like that of daily life, is induc- 
tive — it is derived from experience. We reach our gen- 
eral laws through the study of individual cases. By 
gathering and classifying and generalizing certain facts 
of experience, we form a working theory of these 
facts. We apply this theory — or hypothesis — to the 
facts, testing it, correcting it when necessary, even 
substituting a new one that better accords with the 
facts. 

If any reader needs a definition of induction, he may 
gather it from the following outline of a typical induc- 
tive process. Kepler's work in astronomy furnishes 
as good an example as any. Starting with Copernicus' 
idea of the revolution of the planets in circles, he pro- 
ceeded to test it by elaborate calculations based on the 
positions of Mars. He was surprised to find that 
Mars travelled in an ellipse, with the sun as one of its 
foci. Further calculation gave him the law that a 
planet's velocity throughout the ellipse is not uniform, 
but varies in a certain inverse ratio according to its 
distance from the sun. The reason for these laws was 
not apparent until Newton's studies on universal grav- 
itation, and Kepler's own explanations were fantastic. 
But the laws themselves served as working hypotheses. 

[6] 



KNOWING THE WORLD 

By direct study Kepler extended them to the earth. 
He then reasoned by analogy that they must hold true 
of the other planets, an assumption confirmed by later 
studies. 

This is the same process which our common man 
goes through in reasoning about the sunrise; only in 
Kepler's case it was carried out systematically and with 
a wider store of observations. Modern psychology has 
shown that, outside of medieval logic books, all think- 
ing which advances our knowledge is inductive in char- 
acter. We do not mumble over the old deductive 
formula: all cats are vertebrates; Tommy is a cat; 
therefore Tommy is a vertebrate. We proceed to dis- 
sect Tommy, and fit the discoveries we make into the 
framework of our previous knowledge. John Stuart 
Mill has been justified in his position that "all infer- 
ence, consequently all proof, and all discovery of truths 
not self-evident, consists of inductions, and the inter- 
pretation of inductions: that all our knowledge, not 
intuitive, comes to us exclusively from that source."* 
We do not think in syllogisms; we think in experi- 
ences. All conclusions are hypotheses. 

Here is a lesson for philosophy. She must, under 
pain of death, adopt the systematized inductive method 
which has been used by science in the last century with 
such conspicuous success. If we are to learn the nature 
of the universe, or of personality, or of God, it must 
be in the same way as the physicist learns the nature 
of radium or of negative electricity. We must observe, 

* Logic, Bk. Ill, Chap. i. 

[7] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

and form hypotheses based on the facts before us. The 
test of- our hypothesis is whether it works or not — 
whether renewed observation confirms or discredits it. 
No other method of reasoning is acceptable today. 
We have no valid knowledge except that, derived from 
experience, broadly considered. 

Philosophy should have learned this lesson even be- 
fore the Age of Science. Kant reduced to absurdity all 
a priori thinking — the thinking we do prior to experi- 
ence. The great critic never did a better piece of work 
than in his Antinomy of Pure Reason, where the ab- 
stract ideas of earlier systems are made to destroy one 
another, like the cats of Kilkenny. Since Kant's day, 
all a priori thinking ought to be under the ban. Such 
speculation is valueless for extending our knowledge. 
Inductive study has taken its place. 

The knowledge, the state of mental certitude, which 
we reach by this process is not absolute, either in daily 
life or in science and philosophy. Since knowledge is 
derived from experience, absolute knowledge would 
require an absolute experience, covering all facts and 
relations which may ever exist. This men do not pos- 
sess, even collectively. Our knowledge is constantly 
subject to enlargement and revision. By this constant 
revision it approaches the absolute truth, which we 
hold before us as an ideal and to which we suppose all 
our knowledge to be in relation. For example, the 
theory of the permanence of species gave place to the 
theory of the gradual evolution of species through nat- 
ural selection. The first had a large element of truth 

[8] 



KNOWING THE WORLD 

in it. It served man as a working hypothesis for sev- 
eral thousand years. It did an invaluable service in 
preparing the way for the second. And finally it gave 
way to evolution as a truer theory. But he would 
be bold indeed who claimed that we have at length 
reached absolute certainty. It is now doubtful whether 
natural selection is a positive factor in evolution. We 
know vastly more about the origin of species than did 
our fathers. Yet we have gone but a little way on our 
pilgrimage toward the truth. To reach that goal we 
are studying still, correcting, generalizing anew, and 
our descendants will be doing the same to the world's 
end. It is the relativity of all knowledge which lends 
a zest to its pursuit. 

Probability, as Butler teaches us, is the guide of life. 
We have no other guide. Induction can give us noth- 
ing more satisfying. But the problem becomes more 
complex when we pass from the possibility of knowing 
at all to the value of our knowledge for purposes of 
thought. Strange as it may seem, the certitude which 
is adequate for practical life or even for science may be 
entirely inadequate for philosophy. It has proved to 
be so with many modern thinkers. "The evolution of 
species!" they would say to the scientist. "You claim 
to derive this from the facts of your experience, which 
is doubtless true. But that means that you derive it 
from your states of consciousness. You have made a 
beautiful synthesis out of your states of consciousness. 
Have you done more than that? Have you really 
learned anvthing of the external world ? What is 'spe- 

[9] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

cies' itself but an idea, the product of your synthetic 
faculty?" 

This philosophical scepticism is seriously meant and 
must be answered seriously. I can only outline my 
reply; to discuss the subject fully would require a sep- 
arate treatise on the theory of knowledge. I will first 
state my own view, and then give a specific instance of 
scepticism and suggest the answer. 

Briefly my position, the position reached by modern 
psychological study, is this: While our knowledge and 
the experience on which it is directly based are un- 
doubtedly facts of consciousness, our knowledge and 
experience are not confined to the facts of consciousness 
for their field. Simply because all knowledge comes 
through consciousness, it is not necessarily limited to 
consciousness. Any knowledge of the self and its 
states implies, by an evident non-identity, knowledge 
that the "not-self" exists. As a matter of fact, the 
not-self is more fully and accurately known than the 
self. This must be apparent to every one on a mo- 
ment's reflection. Descriptive psychology, which deals 
with the self, bulks very small in human thought in 
comparison with the sciences which deal with the not- 
self, and the progress of our knowledge in its field has 
been slight comparatively. Again, the not-self comes 
earlier into conscious thought than the self, in the his- 
tory of the child and of the race. In animals, and in 
children before consciousness of the self arises, there 
is a consciousness of the external world and a practical 
knowledge of it. All of which goes to show that our 

[10] 



KNOWING THE WORLD 

knowledge is more than the synthesizing of our states 
of consciousness. It is a real knowledge of a real 
external world, relative no doubt, not to our states of 
consciousness, but to those facts which we represent by 
the expressions "ultimate reality" and "absolute truth." 
Human thought, in its inductions, shows a constant 
adjustment to the experienced facts of the external 
world. 

For a concrete example of scepticism we may best 
turn to Kant, its greatest exponent. He is the cham- 
pion whom every modern thinker must meet. When 
Kant denied the objective validity of metaphysical 
ideas, he based his argument principally on the synthet- 
ical character of all our mental processes. Upon the 
material furnished by the senses the mind imposes its 
own intuitive forms. These forms exist prior to expe- 
rience. The mental processes which involve them and 
are shaped by them can teach us nothing as to the 
source of the material furnished by the senses; that is, 
as to the nature of things in themselves. Hence our 
knowledge is necessarily subjective, not objective, 
which practically means that philosophy must go out of 
business. That is Kant's position. The intuition of 
space, as given in his ^Esthetic, is as good an instance 
as any. For Kant this is an a priori form imposed by 
the mind. For us it is first a form and later an idea 
derived by the mind from its experience of a spacial 
world. I suggest the reasons for holding this view 
of space, leaving the reader to follow out a similar 
method of proof for other sides of my general position. 

[»] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

Child psychology, which has grown up since Kant's 
day, shows us that there is no idea or form of space 
existing a priori in the human mind. Space percep- 
tion is acquired by a long process of seeing and touch- 
ing. The child must learn space, adjust itself to space. 
This is one of the commonplaces of psychological study 
today. 

We turn also to animal psychology, another rela- 
tively new science. Experiments of great interest have 
been made on new-born chickens and pigs.* At first 
the evidence of animal psychology appears to contradict 
that from child life. Space is innate, as Kant claimed 
for the human mind; the reactions of the animal to 
distance, direction, size, etc., are instinctive. "In the 
ways he moves, the directions he takes and the objects 
he reacts to, the chicken has prior to experience the 
power of appropriate reaction to facts ... of all 
three dimensions. "t It makes no difference whether 
we consider instinct as the product of inherited adjust- 
ment, and say, with Romanes, that heredity has done 
the work for which experience is required in children, 
or whether, with Professor Loeb, we resolve it into a 
series of tropisms. In either case this spacial instinct 
shows the adjustment of animal faculty to a spacial 
world. In fact, it proves the existence of a spacial 
world, in very much the same way as the development 
of the eye organ in living creatures in response to 

* Douglass Spalding, Macmillan's Mag., XXVII, 282 
(1873) '■> Nature, XII, 507. Thorndike, as below. 

t Edward Thorndike, Psychological Review, 1899, 282; 
since reprinted in his Animal Intelligence, 1911. 

[12] 



KNOWING THE WORLD 

waves of light proves the objective reality of waves of 
light. 

It follows therefore that the inductions of practical 
life, of science, of philosophy, when involving space (as 
the single point I have chosen for illustrative proof) 
carry us beyond our states of consciousness. They are 
more than syntheses of these states; they increase our 
working knowledge of the external world. What 
space is in itself, as a "form" of phenomena, need not 
detain us now. It is first a form of certain external 
objects. Then, when we induce this form as belong- 
ing to all phenomena, it becomes a category or general 
concept, employed by the mind in further inductive 
processes. This making space an idea is but the logi- 
cal conclusion of the mind's adjustment to that world 
which is the sphere of its practical activities. 

The stages of this mental adjustment to the external 
world, the process by which the facts of the external 
world become knowledge, is a subject so important to 
the right use of philosophy that I must take it up in 
some detail. We have still to answer the question with 
which we started: "How do we know?" 

A suggestive discussion of the different stages of 
thought was given by Romanes, from the standpoint of 
comparative psychology.* I shall use his outline and 
terms, without meaning to commit myself to the asso- 
ciationist view of mental processes. Consciousness is 
undoubtedly a stream rather than a mere aggregation 

* G. J. Romanes, Mental Evolution in Animals, 1883 ; 
Mental Evolution in Man, 1888. 

[13] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

of drops, and Romanes' terms may be made to fit this 
point of view. Another fair criticism, which will not 
affect my argument, is that Romanes' animals are too 
precocious, that he uniformly attributes to them a 
higher place in the mental scale than the facts will 
warrant. 

i. Percepts. A perception, as Romanes says, 
involves a process of mentally interpreting sensations 
in terms of past experience. This begins among ani- 
mals at about the level of echinoderms, and in human 
infants at the age of one week. The first stage is the 
perception of an external object as such by any of the 
senses. Then follows recognition of the simplest qual- 
ities of the object — size, form, color, height, rest, 
motion — as like or unlike the qualities presented by 
such an object in past experience. 

"Perceptions," says Romanes, "are dependent on sub- 
conscious 'coordination wholly automatic." Let us stop 
a moment to determine the objective validity of such 
elementary percepts. We do not perceive sensations; 
we interpret sensations so as to perceive objects. Let 
me offer the following incident from the experience of 
the canker worm as an illustration. Certain reflected 
light waves reach the organism and result in sensations 
of sight in the nerve centers. Having had before 
what were apparently the same sight sensations, the 
insect larva attains a percept of an extended green 
object. Having had pleasant taste sensations in the 
past under similar circumstances, the larva forms a 
new percept that includes this sensation and proceeds 

[14] 



KNOWING THE WORLD 

to feed upon the object. This description of the men- 
tal state of the canker worm on an apple leaf is crude 
and probably erroneous, but it serves to illustrate the 
formation of a percept, with the consequent reaction, 
among animals of the lower stages. Now this percep- 
tion of an object is quite valid, from the standpoint of 
reality. Leaving taste aside, to simplify the illustra- 
tion, there is something in the external world whose 
chemical constitution is such as to absorb all waves of 
white light except those of a certain wave length that 
we call green, and whose form when reflecting these 
light waves has a definite size and shape. 

As for the existence of the object as an entity, we 
may say that, just as for convenience in mastication we 
divide our food into bites, so we separate the external 
world into objects for purposes of mental mastication. 
Instead of a leaf, we may at other times make an object 
of the cluster or the tree or the grove. The area of 
the visual world which we select is determined by the 
focussing of attention, and varies in a rough propor- 
tion as the square of the distance which the reflected 
waves of light must travel to reach us. What we shall 
select as object, however, is largely determined for us 
by certain ways in which groups of phenomena are 
related in the external world. Each group has its 
boundaries. The leaf is bounded by the air, the grove 
by the meadow land. 

2. Recepts. Percepts become in their turn ob- 
jects of memory. There enter the principle of associa- 
tion by contiguity in consciousness, in molluscs and 

[15] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

infants seven weeks old, and the principle of association 
by perceived similarity, in fish and children of four 
months. From this point we find abstraction and gen- 
eralization beginning. Prior to the rise of self-con- 
sciousness we have what Romanes terms recepts, 
"spontaneous associations, formed unintentionally by 
what may be termed unperceived abstractions." Ani- 
mals above a certain stage can form such receptual 
ideas as "good-for-eating," "not-good-for-eating," and 
under this head come generic ideas of "dog," "man," 
etc. A talking bird is able to learn names and use them 
correctly as nota; or marks of particular objects, quali- 
ties and actions, and even farther. The parrot extends 
the name "bow-wow" from a particular dog to dogs 
in general. But "the parrot will never extend its 
denotative name of a particular dog to the picture or 
even the image of a dog." A child will do this, and 
Romanes calls it a higher recept, perhaps paralleled by 
the intelligence of non-talking animals. 

Let us pause again to ask the value of a receptual 
idea, for example, "dog." It is a composite idea, 
formed by combining many simple ideas or percepts. 
But recepts are received — "the comparing, sifting, and 
combining is here done, as it were, for the conscious 
agent, not by him." It is still a mental mastication of 
the external world. Having bitten off as object a cer- 
tain group of phenomena, we sort out similar groups 
as we meet them in our experience. If we made an 
object of the whole collection, this process would be as 
objectively valid as the last. "Dogs" exist, just as 

[16] 



KNOWING THE WORLD 

much as "a dog" exists. But abstraction has begun 
to enter the process. We concentrate our attention 
on what is similar in all dogs, what distinguishes them 
from wolves, for example, and neglect the individual 
differences — of size, color, etc. We make an object 
of this abstraction. The species "dog" does not exist 
in the external world, though men, whether philoso- 
phers or totem peoples, were perhaps justified in think- 
ing that it did, until Darwin and his colleagues 
demonstrated the impermanence of species. The recept 
"dog" is objectively valid only when it is resolved into 
terms of one or more individuals of the species to 
which the recept refers. 

3. Concepts. Passing to the higher ranges of 
mental life, exclusively human, by lower concepts we 
are to understand named recepts, provided the naming 
is due to reflective thought. Language and self-con- 
sciousness develop together, and conceptual thought 
is their joint product. By a higher concept Romanes 
understands an idea fully recognized as an idea. 
When a child names the color "red," with a full con- 
sciousness of what is covered by the term, we have a 
lower concept. When it speaks of "redness" or 
"color," the idea is a higher concept. 

This distinction between lower and higher concepts 
is not of great importance, as it simply indicates 
greater or less abstractness. Objective reality may be 
claimed for concepts on exactly the same terms as for 
recepts, from which they are directly or indirectly 
derived. That is, they must be applied to objects 

[17] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

which we have perceived or are perceiving. There is 
no "color" in the world, but only violet, indigo, blue, 
green, etc. Furthermore there is, psychologically con- 
sidered, no "green," apart from particular objects so 
constituted that they appear to us as green. To take 
further examples, we have the number concepts in 
mathematics and the concept of causality in physics. 
In each of these cases, the concept must be applied to 
and stated in terms of concrete experience before it 
becomes objectively valid. The worker in philosophy 
must constantly bear in mind this abstract character 
of the concept. Failure to do so has proved a fruitful 
source of error. Each "idea" must be challenged and 
compelled to give its pedigree. 

The problem of phenomena and noumena need not 
detain us. Whether such a distinction should be made, 
what is the nature of "things in themselves," what 
is the relation of our microcosm to a possible macro- 
cosm — all these are questions of fact, to be settled, if 
at all, by the inductive method which we have seen 
to be valid for all thinking. 



[18] 



PART I 
THE PHYSICAL 



CHAPTER II 

THE STARS 

A BRIEF work of definition is necessary at the 
outset. I shall find it convenient to use occasion- 
ally the terms "natural" and "supernatural." As these 
words are apt to be given a loose and more or less theo- 
logical meaning, it is essential that my own use of them 
be clearly understood. "Natural" and "supernatural" 
are correlates : the second is derived from the first. By 
"natural" I mean the customary. A "supernatural" 
event is simply an exception to the customary. It fol- 
lows that the specific meaning of these terms will vary 
according to the sphere in which they are applied. 

If we take the facts of the world historically, from 
the point of view of their development, we may dis- 
tinguish four groups of phenomena, or spheres of real- 
it}- — the physical, the organic, the psychical and the 
spiritual. The first three are recognized in some sense 
by all thinkers, but the legitimacy of the last, or spir- 
itual, group is still a matter of debate. In each there 
is a natural order. The appearance of supernatural 
events in our study of that order furnishes the point 
of transition to the natural order of a higher group. 

So far as man's observation (direct or indirect) has 
gone, all the facts of the universe before a certain 

[21] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

geologic date — that is, before the appearance of life on 
this planet — may be classified under physical laws. 
The same classification covers a vast group of phe- 
nomena that we are now observing side by side with 
the organic and other groups. In this great sphere of 
reality, the natural is the physical, because the physical 
is here the customary. We find no facts that are not 
physical. Whatever physical categories we may dis- 
cover are everywhere applicable. 

Turning to the field of astronomy, we find that 
recent years have seen a notable advance in knowledge, 
due largely to the use of the spectroscope. We have 
been obliged to make a complete revision of our ideas 
in many directions. 

Let us consider first the structure of the universe. 
The most satisfactory hypothesis at present is that the 
stellar universe, of which we are a part, is of limited 
rather than indefinite extent. Many facts point in this 
direction. As a result of the improvement of tele- 
scopes and photographic appliances there has been de- 
veloped a law of diminishing returns in the number 
of new stars discovered. This suggests that we are 
beginning to approach the limit in the number of exist- 
ing stars. Up to the tenth magnitude the number of 
stars goes on increasing steadily in about the propor- 
tion we should expect if the stars extended indefinitely 
(nearly four times the number for each successive 
magnitude). But after that point the ratio rapidly 
falls off. If the total number of stars was infinite, it 
is hard to see why the number should not go on quad- 

[22] 



THE STARS 

rupling with each magnitude up to the very limits of 
telescopic vision. In some parts of the sky there are 
starless rifts where many astronomers consider that 
we are looking completely through the stellar universe. 
One of the main arguments for this position is that 
furnished by the study of optics. The total light given 
by the stars is limited and comparatively small in 
amount, whereas from innumerable stars we should 
theoretically have an amount of light greater than that 
from the sun. Prof. Newcomb's popular statement 
of the question will be worth quoting. "Suppose 
the stars to be scattered through infinite space in such 
a way that every great portion of space is, in the gen- 
eral average, about equally rich in stars. Then imag- 
ine that, at some great distance, say that of the average 
stars of the sixth magnitude, we describe a sphere hav- 
ing its center in our system. Outside this sphere, de- 
scribe another one, having a radius greater by a certain 
quantity, which we may call S. Outside that let there 
be another of a radius yet greater by S, and so on 
indefinitely. Thus we shall have an endless succession 
of concentric spherical shells, each of the same thick- 
ness, S. The volume of each of these regions will be 
nearly proportional to the square of the diameters of 
the spheres which bound it. Hence, supposing an equal 
distribution of the stars, each of the regions will con- 
tain a number of stars increasing as the square of the 
radius of the region. Since the amount of light which 
we receive from each individual star is as the inverse 
square of its distance, it follows that the sum-total of 

[23] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

the light received from each of these spherical shells 
will be equal. Thus, as we include sphere after sphere, 
we add equal amounts of light without limit. The 
result of the successive addition of these equal quanti- 
ties, increasing without limit, would be that if the 
system of stars extended out indefinitely the whole 
heavens would be filled with a blaze of light as bright 
as the sun. Now, as a matter of fact, such is very far 
from being the case. It follows that infinite space is 
not occupied by the stars. At best there can only be 

collections of stars at great distances apart So 

far as our present light goes, we must conclude that, 
although we are unable to set absolute bounds to the 
universe, yet the great mass of stars is included within 
a limited space the extent of which we have as yet 
no evidence. Outside of this space there may be scat- 
tered stars or invisible systems. But if these systems 
exist, they are distinct from our own."* 

The only way of escaping this conclusion is by sup- 
posing that some of the light from the stars is extin- 
guished before it reaches us. Struve propounded this 
view a good many years ago. But science has shown 
conclusively that mere distance will not bring about 
such extinction. Light rays can travel indefinitely in 
the perfect vacuum of inter-stellar space. Recently 
dark stars have been suggested as possible extinguishers, 
also the particles of "star dust" out of which future 
nebulae may be formed. But in the more distant stars 
observed by us there is nothing to suggest that any 

* Simon Newcomb, The Stars, 299 ff. 

[24] 



THE STARS 

appreciable portion of their light has been cut off. If 
we are able to see the telescopic stars just as they are, 
there is no reason why we should suppose the light 
from ultra-telescopic stars to be extinguished. 

As to the total number of the stars we must be sat- 
isfied with very general figures. Gore's estimate is that 
the number of bright stars in the universe, down to the 
seventeenth magnitude, which is close to the present 
limit of telescopic vision, does not exceed one hundred 
million. Newcomb's estimate is somewhat higher; he 
says "hundreds of millions." 

As to the distribution of the stars, they appear to be 
scattered with a certain degree of uniformity through 
a sphere flattened at the poles and with somewhat 
irregular boundaries. Around this sphere extends the 
belt of the Galaxy, or Milky Way, roughly circular 
in cross-section, composed of a very much denser aggre- 
gation of star-clusters and individual stars. Probably 
the "star density" of the stellar sphere increases near 
the Galaxy, to a greater degree than is explained by a 
mere flattening of the poles, making the plane of the 
Milky Way, to use Sir William Herschel's expression, 
"a plane of ultimate reference, the ground plan of the 
sidereal system." Whether there are any stars of this 
sphere beyond the Galaxy, that is, whether the Milky 
Way is at the boundary of the stellar universe or not, 
is still uncertain. The solar system is at about the 
center of the stellar sphere and in the plane of the 
Galaxy. 

The sun has a diameter of 864,000 miles (as com- 

[25] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

pared with 8,000 miles for the earth and 88,000 for 
Jupiter) and is at a distance from the earth of nearly 
93,000,000 miles. The distance from us of the nearest 
of the regular stars, Alpha Centauri in the southern 
hemisphere, is about 275,000 times that of the sun. 
Light travels 186,000 miles a second, or about 5,870,- 
000,000,000 (five trillion, eight hundred seventy bil- 
lion) miles a year. The light from Alpha Centauri, 
therefore, takes about four and one-half years to reach 
us, and the farthest stars are probably at a distance of 
at least 3,000 light-years. Newcomb estimated the 
average distance of each star from every other, in the 
stellar sphere, at six and one-half light-years. 

Some of the stars are smaller than our sun; many 
of them are very much larger — perhaps a thousand 
times as large, or even more. The great difference, 
however, is in luminosity rather than in mass. All the 
stars observed appear to have motions toward or 
around some center, at considerable velocity. Large 
groups of stars are also moving together. The study 
of this subject is still in its infancy but it has already 
been possible to distinguish two star-drifts, dividing 
the stars about equally between them. They are inter- 
mingled, one system being apparently superposed upon 
the other. One appears to be moving about one and 
one-half times faster than the other. This drift theory 
has superseded the idea that the sun is moving inde- 
pendently toward a definite point in the sky. Conclu- 
sions are still uncertain, especially as we have only 
begun to measure approaching and recessional motions 

[26] 



THE STARS 

as well as motions across our line of vision. Some 
exceptions to these drifts have been found, and the 
theory is being revised year by year. 

The use of spectrum analysis for the study of stellar 
light has enabled us to classify the stars. Three main 
classes are commonly distinguished. The lines of the 
spectra show dark, for the most part, owing to absorp- 
tion by the layer of gas surrounding the star. Class I 
contains more than half the stars and an even larger 
proportion of those especially brilliant. They give a 
white or slightly bluish light. Their spectra show the 
presence of hydrogen and helium in the absorbing 
layer, though the effect of metallic vapors can also be 
detected. These stars are gaseous, of great size and 
comparatively small density. They are found mainly 
in the Milky Way. The stars of this class shade grad- 
ually into Class II, to which our sun belongs. These 
stars give a yellow light and show the spectra of most 
of the elements with which we are familiar. They are 
probably gaseous or liquid. Class III is composed of 
stars giving a red light and having fluted spectra, indi- 
cating the presence in their atmospheres of metallic 
compounds and carbon in vapor form. The physical 
state of these stars is still uncertain. In some cases 
bright lines are present. A group of comparatively 
small stars, with reversed fluted spectra, are probably 
to be included in this class; these compose Secchi's 
Class IV. Professor Pickering has proposed a Class 
V to include a group of over a hundred stars of pecu- 
liar spectra, with bright as well as dark lines, suggest- 

[27] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

ing some incandescent gases in their atmospheres as 
well as merely absorptive vapors. Another consider- 
able group, the Wolf-Rayet stars, seem to combine, 
among other peculiarities, the characteristics of Class 
II and Class V. They are confined to the galactic 
regions, and tend to gather in groups. Still another 
class would include the numerous dark stars discovered. 
These are difficult to detect, but they may turn out to 
be as numerous as the bright stars with which they are 
associated. 

Besides these classes of fixed stars there are other 
groups or forms of great importance. A large number 
of double stars are being discovered, as well as some 
triple and even multiple systems. They are in revo- 
lution around their common center of gravity, though 
the orbit is often eccentric. The numerous dark stars 
discovered are part of such binary or multiple systems. 
It is possible that single stars will prove to be the 
exception. Where the two stars of a binary are un- 
equal in size, they frequently have spectra belonging to 
different classes. The distance between them is some- 
times comparatively small. The companion of Capella, 
for instance, is at about the same distance as the earth 
from the sun. There are also the numerous star-clus- 
ters, sometimes containing thousands of stars. They 
are most numerous in the Milky Way, where stars are 
thickest. Their stars show spectra of Class I, though 
sometimes with the hydrogen lines bright. They are 
often associated with wisps of nebulous matter. It is 
still an unsolved problem why these hundreds or thou- 

[28] 



THE STARS 

sands of stars, crowded into a comparatively small 
space, do not gravitate together into a single mass. 
Possibly this process is slowly taking place. 

One of the most striking facts about the star-clusters 
is the number of variable stars which they contain — 
more than half of those discovered. These variables 
are of different classes. A few stars are known to be 
gradually changing in brightness. Others show irreg- 
ular fluctuations; the best known instance, Eta Argus, 
is in the midst of a nebula. The so-called "new stars," 
which are likely to prove numerous, especially in the 
star-clusters, suddenly blaze out with increased bril- 
liance, and after a few weeks or months fade. Their 
spectra show bright hydrogen lines, so that the bright- 
ness is largely due to incandescent hydrogen gas; the 
bright lines are not always constant. But there seem 
often to be two spectra, one of them resembling that of 
the nebulae. Some of these variable stars have cer- 
tainly turned into nebulae. The cause of the cataclysm 
is still in doubt; probably both collision and explosion 
enter into it. 

There are also Several classes of periodic variables. 
Some of these, like Algol, are now known to be eclipsed 
at intervals by dark companions. Further variation in 
the periods of such stars may be due to the presence of 
smaller planets, not yet discovered. Other types seem 
to show a binary system of gaseous stars, not only 
eclipsing one another but so tenuous as to be drawn out 
into ellipsoids by their mutual attraction. This is prob- 
ably true of all periodic variables. Some of the bina- 

[29] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

ries are considered to be in actual contact. Mr. A. W. 
Roberts states that five out of the twenty-two Algol 
variables revolve in contact, taking the form of a 
dumb-bell. In one other the stars have recently parted 
company. The periods of all periodic stars are com- 
paratively short, ranging from a few hours to two 
years. 

The nebulae are not found to any extent in the 
Milky Way, except for certain large diffused forms. 
In the rest of the sky they are very numerous, possibly 
numbering several hundred thousand. Some of the 
nebulae are spiral, some ring-shaped, some extremely 
irregular in form and either continuous or fissured. 
In many cases one or more stars are embedded in the 
nebula. There is often a nucleus, with a star at the 
center. In the spiral nebulae the stars are arranged 
more or less symmetrically, following the curves of the 
spiral, with other stars in curves outside of the nebula 
at present visible. The nebulae are of enormous extent, 
some of them probably thousands of times the diameter 
of our whole solar system. They often tend to vary 
both in form and brightness. The 'spectrum of about 
half the number is that of luminous gas, showing lines 
of hydrogen, an unidentified element called "nebu- 
lium," and in some cases helium. The spectrum of the 
remainder, the "white" nebulae, is continuous, like 
ordinary stars or star-clusters of Class I. The density 
of the nebulae has not been determined, but it is so 
small that most of them are transparent. What is 
their exact nature, whether they contain solid particles, 

[30] 



THE STARS 

and what is the cause of their luminescence, are still 
mooted questions. 

Astronomers are agreed that the observed facts show 
a constant process of evolution, and perhaps devolution 
also, among the stars. Laying aside for the moment 
the question of origins, the main course of this stellar 
evolution seems to be clear, as follows: Lane's law 
states that "when a spherical mass of incandescent gas 
contracts through the loss of its heat by radiation into 
space, its temperature continually becomes higher as 
long as the gaseous condition is retained." 'JTiis proc- 
ess is going on in many, perhaps all, of the stars. They 
begin as nebulae, as Laplace assumed for our solar sys- 
tem more than a century ago. The fact of stars 
embedded in nebulae and the similarity between star- 
clusters and the various nebular forms show an unmis- 
takable connection. In fact, the present sky shows all 
stages of condensation from diffused nebulas to systems 
of gaseous stars. The stars of Class V, with their 
incandescent gases, may be the earliest, though this is 
still uncertain. Then come the stars of Class I, with 
their enormous size, low density, great brilliance, and 
a reversing layer that causes the lines of the spectrum 
to appear dark for the most part. Further condensa- 
tion, with an accompanying rise in temperature, is seen 
in Class II. The point at which the maximum tem- 
perature is reached is not certain; perhaps it is about 
the stage of our sun, whose temperature is estimated 
at 6,ooo° C. Absorption by the reversing layer causes 
the light here to be yellow rather than blue. The Lick 

[31] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

Observatory has made the interesting discovery that the 
older stars are moving more rapidly. After the maxi- 
mum temperature is reached, the stars cool off by 
radiation, passing through the stage of Class III with 
their dense atmospheres. The dark stars are the end 
of the series, unless stars in various stages are liable to 
suffer accidents and be resolved again into nebulous 
or meteoric matter. This may occasionally happen 
through collision. It is more likely that when two 
bodies pass each other within a recognized limit of dis- 
tance (Roche's limit) the smaller body will be torn 
into fragments by gravitational attraction. We have 
evidence of such accidents in the asteroids, meteors 
and comets; also in the new stars which turn into 
nebulae. 

This general process of evolution enables us to ex- 
plain the distribution of the nebulae with reference to 
the Milky Way. Nebulae are rare there, while star- 
clusters are numerous. In the Galaxy most of the 
nebulae have condensed into clusters, and the presence 
of variable stars in these clusters suggests that changes 
are going on in them and that the fluctuations in bril- 
liance are due to their youth. The other striking fea- 
ture of the Milky Way is the number of stars of Class 
I, which we know to be young. Some of these are very 
large, but the great proportion are very small and near 
together. It is possible that the latter* constitute the 
first aggregations of former nebulous matter and later 

* It is simply an inference as yet that these belong to 
Class I. 

[32] 



THE STARS 

will unite to form larger stars. Older stars are more 
rare, which may indicate more frequent accidents. 
Nebulous or meteoric matter left from accidents would 
be more quickly attracted by stars, as these are more 
numerous. It would seem that the Milky Way as a 
whole must be rotating, as only this could have formed 
and preserved such a vast ring. The central region, 
to which our solar system belongs, is probably a region 
of comparative calm, the chances of collision being 
infinitesimal. 

Laplace's famous hypothesis is correct in its recogni- 
tion of the nebula as a primitive type from which other 
forms have been evolved by condensation. For the 
idea in this form credit should perhaps be given to the 
elder Herschel rather than to Laplace. In its details 
the original nebular hypothesis is largely outgrown. 
The tidal theory has taken the place of the theory of 
rotating rings. Although the latter may have operated 
in some cases, the number of ring nebulas is compara- 
tively small. Prof. G. H. Darwin, studying the effect 
of lunar tides on the earth in its original fluid state, 
found that they affected the shape of the earth, and this 
in turn affected the moon's orbit, accelerating its veloc- 
ity and increasing its distance from the earth. The 
moon's orbit also tended to grow more and more eccen- 
tric. Working backward, he discovered that the moon 
must originally have formed part of the earth, from 
which it was separated by tidal action. Dr. See 
applied this to the double stars, whose orbits are highly 
eccentric, and found the same effects of tidal action. 

[33] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

The ordinary process seems to be for a nebula to divide 
into- two nearly equal parts, which separate from one 
another very much as the moon separated from the 
earth. Recent studies on the variable stars have given 
us actual evidence of this process. If the rotating neb- 
ula is very heterogeneous, in temperature for instance, 
the portion detached will be smaller, so that the com- 
paratively small planets of our systems may have origi- 
nated in tidal action. Our solar system however is, 
up to the present, unique in the heavens, all other sys- 
tems known to us having at least two stars, bright or 
dark, of nearly equal mass. 

The meteoric hypothesis, now widely current, aims 
to explain the origin of nebulae, and to some ex- 
tent the formation of stars. It considers that many 
parts of the heavens are filled with rapidly-moving par- 
ticles, which by aggregation produce nebulae. This 
theory finds justification, not only in the meteoric mat- 
ter constantly falling on the earth, but still more in 
the fine particles constituting the rings of Saturn, the 
tails of comets, shooting stars, and the zodiacal light. 
The meteoric hypothesis does not conflict with the idea 
of a nebula as gaseous, since a gas is composed of rap- 
idfy-moving particles. It may supplement the tidal 
theory, explaining the origin of bodies which subse- 
quently divide as stated above. Proctor and others 
have carried the theory further. They consider that 
the planets of our solar system were formed by a series 
of aggregations. The larger centers, represented by 
the larger planets, were at a greater distance from the 

[34] 



THE STARS 

center. The inner centers were not able to capture so 
much meteoric dust. 

Much light is likely to be thrown on the meteoric 
hypothesis by the electrons of the new physics, to be 
described in the next chapter. There is a constant 
leakage of electricity from hot bodies, and electrons 
must be emitted from the sun in enormous quantities. 
This undoubtedly has something to do with the sun's 
corona. It causes the Aurora, probably through the 
stoppage of flying electrons by our atmosphere. The 
tail of a comet, made up of electrons, is constantly 
emitting electrons into space. These phenomena sug- 
gest what is the material of which nebulae are formed. 
And their luminosity is probably caused by impacts of 
some sort. 

The stars show most of the commoner chemical 
elements. In many instances, however, the spectra of 
certain elements appear in a simplified or "dissoci- 
ated" form, the number of lines being vastly reduced. 
Thus there is a reduction for iron in the sun from 
nearly 1,000 lines in the reversing layer to two in the 
chromosphere above. The same phenomenon appears 
in the stars, especially those of Class I. The explana- 
tion is still in doubt. Some think it is due to proto- 
metals, or to the atom being decomposed under high 
temperature. 

The life of a star will depend partly upon its initial 
mass; the larger the nebula the longer the period of 
contraction. Up to a short time ago, 20,000,000 years 
was the total time usually allowed for the sun to con- 

[35] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

tinue radiating energy at its present rate, by con- 
densation alone. (Maintenance of temperature by 
bombardment from meteoric particles is untenable, on 
various grounds.) This period, none too long for the 
earth's biological development, would of course be only 
a fraction of its life as a star. 

The discovery of radioactivity, however, has com- 
pelled us to reconsider this whole question. We know 
that helium is present in the sun, and helium is inti- 
mately associated with radium. A comparatively small 
quantity of radioactive matter would enable the sun 
to maintain its heat indefinitely from this source. A 
similar source of energy would be the rearrangement 
of other atoms, with the release of some of their inter- 
nal energy. "An equivalent statement of the same con- 
clusion may be put thus: supposing a gaseous nebula 
is destined to condense into a sun, the elementary mat- 
ter of which it is composed will develop in the process 
into our known terrestrial and solar elements, parting 
with energy as it does, so." * Further application of our 
knowledge of radioactivity will be awaited with great 
interest. 

What contribution has Astronomy made toward a 
solution of the broad philosophical questions? From 
the facts already before us, what is our interpretation 
of the world in which we live ? 

The world is certainly a unity. That is one of the 
facts clearly established by modern science. The same 
physical laws which are familiar to us on the earth and 

*R. A. Sampson, Enc. Brit., art. Sun, XXVI, 88 c. 

[36] 



THE STARS 

in the solar system hold good in the farthest corner 
of the stellar system. Gravitation, for instance, every- 
where follows the same course. So does the radiation 
of light. The elements found in earth, sun, stars and 
nebulae appear to be identical. About half of the 

• 

known elements have already been detected in the sun. 
Some of the stars, perhaps all stars in a certain stage, 
have spectra closely resembling that of the sun. In 
the meteorites constantly falling on the earth, originat- 
ing possibly in some distant part of the heavens, not a 
single non-terrestrial element has been found. Alto- 
gether twenty-four elements have been found in me- 
teorites, including seven not found in the sun. 
. That our solar system forms part of the stellar sys- 
tem and that the. whole is dynamically related is uni- 
versally recognized by scientific observers, even if little 
has been done as yet toward working out the orbits of 
such relation. It is proper for us to conceive of our 
world as a universe. We are compelled to think of 
physical phenomena in their totality. 

This notion of a universe is a distinct contribution 
to our thought. For it is an objectively valid concept, 
extremely abstract, it is true, but derived from our 
experience of the external world, and concretely appli- 
cable as we fill in the many parts and occurrences 
included in the universe. 

We have learned further that the universe has defi- 
nite dimensions. It comprises a certain number of 
stars, although an immense number, which as yet we 
can only estimate. These stars extend from us in all 

[37] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

directions to certain definite distances — vast distances, 
which, however, we are beginning to measure. What 
is beyond the farthest stars? We do not know. Are 
there other universes beyond the limits of our own? 
We do not know. We have not the slightest evidence 
for the existence of any other universe, and the law 
of parsimony forbids our postulating another universe 
without evidence.* Our thought is necessarily re- 
stricted to the one we know. Men of this age cannot 
follow the custom of the ancients, when their knowl- 
edge gave out, and draw a sea serpent or a dragon at 
the edge of the map. 
* See ante, p. 4. 



[38] 



T 



CHAPTER III 

ELECTRONS 

URNING from the telescope to the microscope, 
what does the "new physics" tell us as to the 
nature of that which is called matter? 

In the first place, what appears to us as solid 01 
fluid is in reality made up of extremely small particles, 
or atoms, usually grouped into what we know as mole- 
cules. The atomic theory, beginning as a hypothesis, 
and considered by many philosophers a physical fiction, 
is now proved beyond dispute. Single atoms or parts 
of atoms have been isolated by at least three different 
methods and their effects noted.* The camera reveals 
the single shots of their bombardment as well as if they 
came from thirteen-inch guns. We can count them, 
measure them, calculate their rate of speed. And what 
may be photographed and counted and measured may 
not lightly be dismissed as something hypothetical, sym- 
bolical, fictitious. We live in a physical world, and 
that world is made up of atoms. Which only adds 
interest to the question: "What is an atom?" 

Physics is now prepared to tell us much as to the 
structure of the atom. About three-quarters of a cen- 
tury ago, Faraday studied the conduction of electricity 
through certain compound liquids known as electro- 

* Phosphorescent spots on a piece of sulphide due to im- 
pinging alpha particles; Rutherford's experiment of passing 
alpha particles through a hole; and the isolation of elec- 
trons by Thomson and Milliken through drops of water 
or oil. r t 

[39] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

lytes. He discovered the law that the quantity of the 
electrolyte decomposed is proportional to the amount 
of electricity passing through it. This he explained by 
the theory of the ion (that is, "traveller"), an atom or 
group of atoms bearing an electric charge. These ions 
are of two kinds, one drifting toward the positive pole 
or anode, the other drifting in an opposite direction to 
give up its charge at the negative pole or cathode.* 

This conception has now been applied to the con- 
duction of electricity through gases. Gases ordinarily 
are very poor conductors of electricity. Their conduc- 
tivity may be increased, however, by lowering the pres- 
sure. As early as 1859 Pliicker passed an electric 
charge through a tube connected with an air-pump. 
As the pressure was lowered, the passage of electricity 
became easier, the spark changing to a continuous glow, 
until finally a stream of radiations, since known as 
cathode rays, was obtained from the cathode. It was 
not until 1895 that Rontgen discovered certain invis- 
ible radiations outside the cathode-ray tube. These X 
or Rontgen rays have many unusual properties, among 
them the power of making conductors of air and other 
gases. 

Sir William Crookes was the first to recognize that 
cathode rays consist of minute particles bearing a neg- 

* Copper-plating furnishes a simple example. Under the 
influence of the electric current, some of the molecules of 
the copper sulphate bath are decomposed. The copper mole- 
cule or ion passes to the object to be plated, which forms 
the cathode. The sulphate ion goes to the copper plate form- 
ing the anode, which dissolves, thus forming new molecules 
of copper sulphate and keeping the bath of uniform strength. 

[40] 



ELECTRONS 

ative charge. That is, they are negative ions. But in 
this case the ion rs very much smaller than the atom. 
Professor J. J. Thomson of Cambridge, by a series of 
brilliant experiments, succeeded in determining the 
mass of these "corpuscles," as he called them, though 
the term "electron" is now more generally used. Our 
knowledge has been extended by many other experi- 
menters. Each electron, when moving with moderate 
velocity, has an apparent mass approximately 1/1700 
of the mass of the hydrogen atom.* This apparent 
mass is the same whatever the element. This is also 
true of the electric charge carried by the electron, 
which has been accurately measured.! This elec- 
tronic charge is probably to be considered as "a real 
natural unit of electricity," all ions carrying one such 
unit or a multiple of it.| It is interesting to note 
that the theory of unitfelectrons was worked out math- 
ematically before the experimental study of cathode 
rays, notably by Lorentz in Holland and Larmor in 
England. 

Corresponding to the electrons are the particles in the 
vacuum tube carrying an equivalent positive charge. 

* The fraction generally used. Fleming in the Encyclope- 
dia Britannica, nth ed. (art. Electricity, IX, 192, note 2) 
gives the masses as 7.0 x io -28 and 1.3 x io -24 respectively, 
or 1/1859. Biicherer, Annalen der Physik, XXVIII, 513 
( I 9°9)> gives 1/1752 for a little less than 1/3 the velocity 
of light. Thomson's earlier figures, before instruments and 
methods were perfected, were 1/770 and 1/1170. 

1 4.891 xio- 10 E.S. units, is given by R. A. Milliken, 
Physical Review, XXXII, 349 (1911). 

t H. A. Lorentz, Theory of Electrons, Leipzig, 1909, 

44- 

[4i] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

These positive ions always have a smaller velocity than 
the electrons, and a very much larger mass. The mass, 
however, is not constant, but differs for each element. 
It is of the same order as the mass of the ion in ordi- 
nary electrolysis, though not necessarily identical with 
the atom. In no case is it smaller than the hydrogen 
atom. 

The effect of Rontgen rays is to "ionize" a gas. 
That is, some of the molecules give off, or are broken 
up into, positive and negative ions. Under the influ- 
ence of an electric field, these particles tend to move 
toward their respective poles, as in the case of liquids. 
This constitutes the current, which is proportional to 
the number of ions reaching the plates in a given time. 

We have learned further that the number of elec- 
trons in an atom is of the same order as and not greatly 
different from the atomic w^ght (hydrogen one, 
helium four, etc.)* This at once suggests the fasci- 
nating hypothesis that the atom of one chemical ele- 
ment differs from that of another only in the number 
and arrangement of its component electrons. As to 
the exact constitution of the atom we are still in the 
dark, although clever guesses have been made by 
Thomson and others. The general theory of free and 
bound electrons, the latter moving in definite orbits 
within the atom, seems to be meeting all the demands 
made upon it. 

The study of radium and other radioactive sub- 
stances, following the discoveries made by Becquerel 

* J. J. Thomson, P/iilos. May., XI, 769 (1906). 

[42] 



ELECTRONS 

and the Curies, in 1896, has given a striking confirma- 
tion of the electron theory. The alpha rays shot off 
by these substances are universally recognized as posi- 
tive ions. They have been further identified as helium 
atoms with a double charge. The beta rays are elec- 
trons. The gamma rays are now classed, with Ront- 
gen rays, not as particles but rather as light rays with 
an extremely short wave-length. The alpha and beta 
particles escape in great numbers and with a wide 
range of velocities. In many cases the discharge alter- 
nates with periods of apparent rest, when the emission 
of alpha and beta rays cannot be detected. 

A simple explanation of these phenomena, based on 
the electron theory, is that given by Rutherford and 
Soddy. The radioactive elements are the heaviest 
known, and hence the most complicated in their struc- 
ture and most subject to rearrangement and decom- 
position. "Each second a definite fraction of the num- 
ber of atoms present break up with explosive violence, 
in most cases expelling an alpha or beta particle with 
great velocity. Taking as a simple illustration that an 
alpha particle is expelled during the explosion, the 
resulting atom has decreased in mass and possesses 
chemical and physical properties entirely distinct from 
the parent atom. A new type of matter has thus 
appeared as a result of the transformation. The atoms 
of this new matter are again unstable and break up in 
turn, the process of successive disintegration of the 
atom continuing through a number of distinct stages."* 

*E. Rutherford, Enc. Brit, XXII, 797 a. 

[43] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

This activity is, in observation as in theory, independ- 
ent of temperature, chemical combination and all other 
physical conditions. 

The radioactive atoms are to be considered as in 
process of decomposition. New temporary elements 
are formed, only to give place to other more or less 
familiar substances. A radioactive element is now de- 
fined as one that is undergoing transmutation, this 
being detected by the slow decrease of its mass, inde- 
pendent of external conditions. Further study has sug- 
gested that all elements may be radioactive. A large 
number of substances are known to cause ionization, 
but it is still uncertain whether this is due to the radio- 
activity of their elements or to the presence of minute 
quantities of radium or similar material. 

In addition to the energy shown in ionization, an 
amount of heat is given out by the radioactive elements 
at least 500,000 times greater than in any known chem- 
ical reaction, though the rate of emission is slow. This 
heat must be intrinsic, intra-atomic. The kinetic en- 
ergy involved in the movements of electrons within 
such a complicated atom would be enormous.* 

* "In 1 gram of hydrogen there are about 6 x io 23 atoms, so 
if there is only one corpuscle in each atom the energy due 
to the corpuscles [deduced from the size and charge] in a 
gram of hydrogen would be 48x10" ergs, or iixio 9 cal- 
orie's. This is more than seven times the heat developed 
by 1 gram of radium, or than that developed by the burning 
of 5 tons of coal. Thus we see that even ordinary matter 
contains enormous stores of energy; this energy is fortu- 
nately kept fast bound by the corpuscles ; if at any time an 
appreciable fraction were to get free the earth would explode 
and become a gaseous nebula." J. J. Thomson, Presidential 
Address, 1909. 

[44] 



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THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

As the life of the radioactive elements, by reason of 
disintegration, is comparatively short, they must be in 
process of formation as well as disintegration. Two 
views are possible. They may be formed by the disin- 
tegration of more complex elements, as radium, for 
example, is formed from uranium. On this theory 
matter is first complex and gradually becomes simpler 
and less active. The parents of the heaviest radio- 
active elements may already have disappeared from 
the earth or from the universe. Another theory is the 
reverse of this. Primordial chaos may be conceived as 
filled with ions, in positive and negative pairs. From 
these, more and more complex atoms have been 
evolved, through the action of various known forces. 
All atoms simpler than hydrogen have already entered 
more elaborate combinations. It seems probable that 
both processes are going on, simultaneously. The ex- 
amples of transmutation of elements through inte- 
gration, given by the studies of Ramsay, Collie and 
Patterson, are not yet entirely satisfactory. 

In radioactivity, electrons reach a very much higher 
velocity than in other known processes. The measure- 
ment of this velocity has led to results of the greatest 
importance. Kaufmann's experiments showed con- 
clusively that, when the electron approaches the veloc- 
ity of light, its mass increases rapidly. He found the 
mass of a swiftly-moving particle to be about three 
times that of one which was moving slowly. In a 
swiftly-moving electron about 3/4 of the apparent mass 
must be electro-magnetic, that is, due to its motion. 

[46] 



ELECTRONS 

Any charged body, when in motion, sets up around 
itself a magnetic field, which tends, through what is 
known as self-induction, to retard the motion of the 
charged body. To these phenomena, or to changes in 
the aether which they represent, is due the principal 
mass of the swiftly-moving electron. 

Has the electron any other mass? Is the apparent 
mass of the slowly-moving particle (about 1/1700 of 
the mass of the hydrogen atom) to be considered as 
electro-magnetic? Kaufmann says "Yes," and this 
view is accepted by most modern physicists. Mathe- 
matical calculations seem to show that the electron 
can have no "material" mass at all; thajt it is merely 
a point or region where a definite electric charge is 
concentrated. 

What shall we say as to the positive ion, carrying 
an equivalent electrical charge, which represents most 
of the mass of the atom ? Is its mass also electrical, or 
are we to postulate two kinds of mass, one "material," 
the other electro-magnetic? An experimental solution 
of this problem is thus far lacking, but many physicists 
are inclined to take the former view. What is called 
matter would then resolve itself into a form of 
energy, and a great step would be taken toward the 
unification of our physical knowledge. This is at least 
a legitimate hypothesis. It already appears to be a 
more successful hypothesis than that which considers 
the atom or the electron as "stuff." 

Lorentz' cautious summary may be quoted. "What 
we want to know is, whether the mass of the positive 

[47] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

electron can be calculated from the distribution of its 
charge in the same way as we can determine the mass 
of the negative particle. This remains, I believe, an 
open question, about which we shall do well to speak 
with some reserve. In a more general sense, I for one 
should be quite willing to adopt an electromagnetic 
theory of matter and of the forces between material 
particles. As regards matter, many arguments point to 
the conclusion that its ultimate particles always carry 
electric charges and that these are not merely accesspry 
but very essential. We should introduce what seems to 
me an unnecessary dualism, if we considered these 
charges and what else there may be in the particles as 
wholly distinct from each other."* 

It will be appropriate to close this chapter with the 
words with which Sir J. J. Thomson closes his arti- 
cle on Matter in the Encyclopaedia Britannica. "We 
have confined our attention to the view that the con- 
stitution of matter is electrical; we have done so 
because this view is more. closely in touch with experi- 
ment than any other yet advanced. The units of which 
matter is built up on this theory have been isolated and 
detected in the laboratory, and we may hope to discover 
more and more of their properties. By seeing whether 
the properties of matter are or are not such as would 
arise from a collection of units having these properties, 
we can apply to this theory tests of a much more defi- 
nite and rigorous character than we can apply to any 
other theory of matter. "t 

* Electrons, p. 45. f Enc. Brit., XVII, 895 b. 

[48] 



CHAPTER IV 

IS THERE AN MTHERf 

\~~ V HERE has been some tendency in recent physics 
-*- to transfer to the aether the functions formerly 
assigned to matter. Thus one of Thomson's statements 
of the electrical theory of matter is that "all mass is 
mass of the aether, all momentum, momentum of the 
aether, and all kinetic energy, kinetic energy of the 
aether."* 

The idea of the aether as a substance filling all space 
not occupied by material bodies, began as a postulate of 
those who could not tolerate the notion of action across 
an empty distance. Clerk Maxwell's researches made 
it a legitimate hypothesis. Light, heat and electricity 
travel in waves, without loss, and occupy an appre- 
ciable time in their passage. Such waves seem to de- 
mand a medium that will serve as a bearer for the 
undulations. 

The attempts to frame a constitution for the aether 
have not been particularly successful. The old elastic- 
solid idea and Lord Kelvin's theory of the vortex-ring 
have not met the demands made upon them, in spite 
of repeated revisions. There is little to recommend 
Mendelejeff's theory that the aether is the lightest 

* Electricity and Matter, 1904, p. 51. 

[49] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

known element and a definite form of matter. Lar- 
mor's theory, somewhat similar to that of Maxwell, is 
that "an electron or unit charge of electricity is a cen- 
ter of intrinsic strain, probably of a gyrostatic type, in 
an aether, which is also the medium in which are prop- 
agated the waves of light and wireless telegraphy. . . . 
Electricity is a state of intrinsic strain in a univer- 
sal medium. That medium is prior to matter, and 
therefore not necessarily expressible in terms of 
matter."* 

Larmor's view, which is full of suggestion, was 
elaborated with great mathematical skill before the dis- 
coveries by Thomson and Kaufmann as to the mass 
of electrons. This mass, as we saw in our last chapter, 
is probably electrical. What does that mean? Ac- 
cording to Thomson's view, referred to at the opening 
of this chapter, the inertia of any body is simply the 
mass of the aether surrounding it which is carried 
along by the lines of electrical force associated with 
the body. He has calculated the density of the aether 
attached to an electron as about 2,000 million times 
that of lead ; Lodge has reached a similar figure. Such 
a density is conceivable "if we remember that in all 
probability matter is composed mainly of holes. We 
may, in fact, regard matter as possessing a bird-cage 
kind of structure in which the volume of the aether 
disturbed by the wires when the structure is moved is 
infinitesimal in comparison with the volume inclosed 

* W. C. D. Whetham, Recent Development of Physical 
Science, 1904, p. 282, paraphrasing J. Larmor, JEther and 
Matter, 1900. 

[50] 



IS THERE AN MTHER? 

by them."* This idea gains some plausibility from the 
fact that light-waves are now known to exert a definite 
pressure; that is, undulations in the aether appear to 
have momentum, like undulations in water or air. 

The question of a possible motion of this hypotheti- 
cal aether may be approached along another line, a line 
that brings us to the principle of relativity, the estab- 
lishment of which is one of the revolutionary events of 
recent physics. 

We might say that the ordinary Newtonian me- 
chanics is based on the following assumptions: first, 
three-dimensionate space; second, simultaneous mo- 
ments of a continuous time; third, bodies whose mass 
is a constant, the product of their volume and density; 
fourth, forces acting between these bodies inversely as 
the square of their distance apart ; fifth, a base line that 
can be used as a standard of reference in determining 
directions and distances; sixth, a medium through 
which forces can act, bodies move under the influence 
of forces, and energy be transmitted without friction 
or deflection due to the medium. (Static or potential 
energy is usually stated as the product of a force and 
the distance though which it acts, and kinetic energy 
as one-half the product of the mass and the square of 
the velocity.) These assumptions are not axioms but 
hypotheses; any one of them is open to challenge. We 
begin by doubting the third and sixth, and may end by 
doubting others also. 

* J. J. Thomson, Recent Progress in Physics, Presidential 
Address at British Association Meeting, 1909. Reprinted in 
Smithsonian Report for 1909, pp. 185-205. 

[51] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

To quote from the excellent historical summary by 
Lewis and Tolman: "Until a few years ago every 
known fact about light, electricity and magnetism [in 
particular, the aberration of stellar light] was in agree- 
ment with the theory of a stationary medium or aether, 
pervading all space, but offering no resistance to the 
motion of ponderable matter. This theory of a stag- 
nant aether led to the belief that the absolute velocity 
of the earth through this medium could be determined 
by optical and electrical measurements. Thus it was 
predicted that the time required for a beam of light 
to pass over a given distance, from a fixed point to a 
mirror and back, should be different in a path lying in 
the direction of the earth's motion and in a path lying 
at right angles to this line of motion. This prediction 
was tested in the crucial experiment of Michelson and 
Morley, who found, in spite of the extreme precision of 
their method, not the slightest difference in the differ- 
ent paths. It was also predicted from the aether theory 
that a charged condenser suspended by a wire would 
be subject to a torsional effect due to the earth's 
motion. But the absence of this effect was proved ex- 
perimentally by Trouton and Noble." 

While the phenomenon of aberration gave rise to the 
idea of light-waves left behind in the aether by the 
movement of the earth, these experiments seem to show 
that the earth is at rest, or practically so, with reference 
to the aether immediately surrounding it. Are we to 
conclude that the earth drags some of the aether with it 
in its orbital motion, as suggested by the previous ex- 

[52] 



IS THERE AN MTHER? 

periments of Airy and Fizeau ? An alternative hypoth- 
esis was offered some years ago by Lorentz, "who 
assumed that all bodies in motion are shortened in the 
line of their motion by an amount which is a simple 
function of the velocity. [A recent example is the 
apparent flattening of a swiftly-moving electron.] 
This shortening would produce a compensation just 
sufficient to offset the predicted positive effect in the 
Michelson-Morley experiment, and would also account 
for the result obtained by Trouton and Noble. . . . 

"Einstein has gone one step farther. Because of the 
experiments that we have cited, and because of the fail- 
ure of every other attempt that has ever been made to 
determine absolute velocity through space, he concludes 
that further similar attempts will also fail. In fact, he 
states as a law of nature that absolute uniform trans- 
latory motion can be neither measured nor detected." 

To put this first postulate in another form, the only 
motion which has physical significance is the motion of 
one body or system of bodies relative to another. The 
aether cannot be regarded as a system in this sense. In 
Michelson and Morley's experiment, both the observer 
and the source of light are on the earth ; hence there is 
no relative motion and no possibility of detecting mo- 
tion at all. We have no means of determining whether 
the aether or any part of it is in motion or at rest. This 
seems to militate against Thomson's idea of electrical 
mass as due to the aether dragged along by the electron. 

"The second fundamental generalization made by 
Einstein he calls 'the law of the constancy of light 

[ 53 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

velocity/ It states that the velocity of light in free 
space appears the same to all observers, regardless of 
the motion of the source of light or of the observer. 
These two laws taken together constitute the principle 
of relativity. They generalize a number of experimen- 
tal facts and are inconsistent with none."* 

The second postulate of the relativity principle is, 
to some extent (what the first is wholly), a matter of 
optics or psychology. We might state it in this way: 
the only velocities which can be detected and measured 
are velocities relative to that of light. The reason for 
this is that, for practical purposes, we must see the 
beginning and end of the motion we are measuring and 
the beginning and end of the linear scale used in meas- 
urement. A velocity greater than that of light might 
produce sensible effects, but we should have no means 
of measuring it. 

But the relativity of all velocities with reference 
to light cannot be considered as entirely psychological, 
since it enters into the determination of mass. Physi- 
cists are coming to recognize that the increase in the 
mass of an electron with the increase of velocity is not 
an exceptional case, but that the same thing is true of 
all mass. That means that we must surrender the 
Newtonian notion of mass as independent of velocity. 
In the non-Newtonian mechanics, which is now begin- 
ning to crystallize, mass is rather a function of the 

* G. N. Lewis and R. C. Tolman, The Principle of Rela- 
tivity and Non-Newtonian Mechanics, Philosophical Mag., 
XVIII, 510 (1909.) References are given to the original 
papers. 

[54] 



IS THERE AN MTHERf 

velocity. Recently Biicherer has shown independently 
that the mass of a body increases in a definite propor- 
tion according to the ratio of its velocity to the velocity 
of light.* A body at rest would have no mass. Ki- 
netic energy varies between 1/2 mv 2 at low velocity, 
the old Newtonian figure, and mv 2 at the velocity of 
light. The latter figure gives the kinetic energy of a 
beam of radiation, which is assumed to be due to a 
mass moving with the velocity of light. t 

I shall return a little later to this hypothesis regard- 
ing the nature of light. At this point it is in order to 
remark that, if the hypothesis can be established, the 
idea of a beam of light as a series of waves in the aether 
proves untenable. Since the undulation of a beam of 
light was the sole ground for assuming an aether, we 
must reject the aether hypothesis. (The cause of the 
undulation is and always has been an independent 
problem.) Campbell, in a recent article, challenges 
any one to reconcile the idea of an aether with recent 
experiments as to the nature of light. "A demonstra- 
tion that the case for the aether is ludicrously weak, 
where it was thought to be the strongest, that the 
concept has never been the source of anything but fal- 
lacy and confusion of thought, may serve to expedite its 
relegation to the dust-heap where now 'phlogiston' and 
'caloric' are mouldering."^: Even where the concept of 

* The "rest" of large bodies is only apparent. Their com- 
ponent molecules and electrons are in rapid motion. 

f G. N. Lewis, N on-N eivtonian Mechanics, Philos. Mag., 
XVI, 705 (1908). 

t Norman Campbell, The Principles of Dynamics, Philos. 
Mag., XIX, 190 (1910). 

[55] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

the aether is retained, there is a tendency to ignore it 
and talk about phenomena in a perfect vacuum. 

The rejection of a physical aether means the rejec- 
tion of the idea of infinity. Though a convenient 
mathematical fiction, "the infinite" has no basis in ob- 
servation and experience. Physically speaking, there is 
no evidence that being extends beyond the boundaries 
of the universe at all, not to speak of an infinite dis- 
tance. The stars cease after a certain distance, as was 
shown in our astronomical chapter. Nebulous particles 
may be assumed to do the same thing. And that is 
the end ; there is no aether to carry the universe further. 

Any reference to distance involves the question of 
measurement. Just at present we are house-cleaning 
in this department of our knowledge. The old New- 
tonian mechanics is likely to be consigned to the gar- 
ret, for two reasons. It has never been able to secure 
a satisfactory base-line for its measurements. And we 
never could be sure that the units of measurement were 
constant, whether these were arbitrarily chosen, like 
the yard and pound, or based on such natural measures 
as the diameter of the earth at its equator, and the 
duration of its passage through daily revolution and 
yearly orbit. Still another objection to the old me- 
chanics, as Planck suggests, is its anthropomorphism. 
Everything is observed and measured from the stand- 
point of a human observer. 

The principle of relativity has given us a new con- 
stant, independent of conditions and of the motion or 
rest of the observer : the velocity of light in a vacuum. 

[56] 



IS THERE AN MTHERf 

From this the practical units of time and linear dimen- 
sion may be derived. A second is the time occupied by 
the passage of light between two arbitrarily chosen 
points. A metre or yard is the distance traversed by 
light between other points selected. 

The use of units is suggested by the fact that the 
universe is made up of parts. Of any one of these nat- 
ural units we may form an objectively valid concept, 
as we saw in our first chapter, a concept concretely 
derived and concretely applicable. An electron is a 
real "thing," whether we conceive of it as a charged 
particle, or merely as a center of force. So the atom is 
a real thing; the particles or electric charges compos- 
ing it are related to one another in such a way that 
it can be sharply distinguished from the group which 
forms a neighboring atom. So with a molecule, a star, 
an atmosphere. The philosophical term "category" is 
a convenient abstraction to use here. We may conceive 
of the universe not only under the broad category of 
being and under the category of unity, but under the 
category of number. Not only does the universe exist, 
not only is it dynamically one, but it is made up of 
units which may, at least temporarily, be distinguished 
and characterized. 

Since space and time can be measured, since even 
such a simple conception as the foregoing involves the 
idea of units changing from one time to another, the 
question inevitably arises: "What are space and time?" 
The Newtonian idea of a space and time "in which" 
things happened was full of difficulty from every point 

[57] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

of view. Nowhere were the a priori philosophers re- 
quired to display such feats of verbal jugglery. Must 
these last remaining assumptions of the Newtonian 
mechanics go the way of all the rest? Undoubtedly. 
This has been clearly seen by Minkowski, Planck, and 
other physicists. As Campbell says: "It is the great 
merit of the Principle of Relativity that it forces on 
our attention the true nature of the concepts of 'real 
time' and 'real space' which have caused such endless 
confusion. If we mean by them quantities which are 
directly observed to be the same by all observers, there 
simply is no real space and real time. If we mean by 
them, as apparently we do mean nowadays, functions 
of the directly observed quantities which are the same 
for all observers, then they are derivative conceptions 
which depend for their meaning on the acceptance of 
some theory as to how the directly observed quanti- 
ties will vary with the motion, position, etc., of the 
observers."* 

My own putting of the case is as follows. I have 
already given a brief analysis of the concept "space,"t 
showing it to be derived from the facts of the objec- 
tive world. The concept is merely a convenient ab- 
straction; what do the spacial facts of the universe 
give us? Merely measurable relations. Given two 
units, two electric charges we will say, and relation 
begins. Since light may pass between them, we can 
measure the varying distance apart of these two cen- 

* Norman Campbell, Common Sense of Relativity, Philos. 
Mag., XXI, 514 (19"). 
t See ante, p. 12 /. 

[58] 



IS THERE AN JETHER? 

ters of force. Given three charges and we have bi- 
mensurate relation. That is, we can measure the 
distance from one center of force to each of the other 
two: from a to b and c, from b to a and c, from c to 
a and b. Given four charges and we have tri-men- 
surate relation; we can measure from a center of force 
to each of the other three. And that is space. It is 
hard to give any better definition of it. The concep- 
tion is comparatively simple, if we once free our minds 
from the ideas inculcated by the old mechanics and 
geometry. The universe, from one point of view, is 
simply the tri-mensurate relation of our four charges 
immensely expanded. It is made up of certain units 
and these stand in certain changing, but at any point of 
change measurable, relations, each unit related to all 
the others. Where stars and nebulous particles cease, 
there relations cease, and what we know as space 
ceases. 

We might make a somewhat similar analysis of 
the concept "time," showing how it is derived from the 
facts of the external world. The temporal facts of the 
universe give us measurable sequences. Something hap- 
pens to a unit. A planet passes through a certain orbit 
around a central sun. Its relation to this sun and to 
other planets and suns is constantly changing; changes 
of relation succeed each other incessantly. All the 
units of the universe are changing their relations in this 
way. Between this set of relations and that set of rela- 
tions the passage of light would occupy a certain period 
which we are accustomed to call a second. And these 

[59] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

sequences of change throughout the universe, which 
theoretically, because of the inter-relation of the units, 
could all be included in one act of measurement, con- 
stitute what we commonly speak of as time. At the 
boundaries of the universe, time ceases. Where there 
are no movements there are no sequences and there is 
no time. We have merely added to our list of physical 
categories the convenient abstractions of sequence and 
spacial relation. 

One question which is likely to be raised by this con- 
clusion is that of the conservation of energy. When 
the light and heat of the stars reaches the boundary 
of the universe, what becomes of the energy involved? 
This applies particularly to the stars farthest out. Are 
we to suppose that energy simply dies away as it ap- 
proaches the boundary of the universe? This would 
mean the gradual, though extremely slow, dissipation 
of energy. 

A number of answers might be given to this ques- 
tion. We could accept without great difficulty the fact 
of dissipation, since it is only an inference that the con- 
servation of energy applies to the universe as a whole. 
On the other hand, in the non-Newtonian mechanics 
the universe has limits, but not boundaries in the sense 
of energy-traps. Again, it is perfectly conceivable that 
radiant energy exists only between bodies, as is the case 
with the energy due to gravitation. In such case, the 
farthest stars would radiate energy only to other stars. 
The difficulties are equally great on any other theory 
of space or of the extent of the universe. 

[60] 



CHAPTER V 

THE UNIVERSAL ENERGY 

OUR discussions of matter and aether have led us 
to the study of energy, as to the heart of physics. 
Force and energy are the dominant facts in the physical 
universe. But it is by no means easy to win one's way 
through the present confusion. This is due partly to 
the apparent break-down of the Newtonian mechanics 
and partly to the fact that the recent discoveries in 
electricity and light have not yet become clarified and 
crystallized into scientific dogma. We may begin by 
asking what are the various forms of force actually 
observed by the physical sciences. What do we know 
about them, without reference to the old definitions 
and classifications? 

A. First of all, there is the force of electrical attrac- 
tion or repulsion, represented by the electric charge. 
This charge may be either negative or positive. The 
former is known to us as the electron; the latter is an 
equivalent unit whose real nature is not yet understood. 
The electric charge, either negative or paired with a 
positive, is probably to be regarded as the unit of the 
atom, and so of all matter. 

B. The force of magnetic attraction or repulsion, 
set up by the motion of an electron (or of any moving 
body.) 

[61] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

C. The pressure of radiation, exerted, by a beam of 
light. The fact of such pressure is clear enough from 
recent studies, but the explanation of it is still in some 
doubt. Planck's investigations seem to lead to a revi- 
val of the emission theory of light, in a modified form. 
Certain units are sent out through space — normally 
in straight lines, with an undulatory motion and a 
linear velocity in a vacuum of 3 x io 10 cm. per sec- 
ond — and exert a definite pressure on striking any 
body in their path. A series of such "quantities" fol- 
lowing the same path would represent a light wave. 

D. Molecular attraction. The molecules of any 
body have a force of attraction for each other, varying 
in strength for different substances. This is generally 
known as "cohesion," and determines such properties 
of matter as tenacity, ductility, lower or higher melt- 
ing-point, etc. There is also a certain force, termed 
"adhesion," between the molecules of adjacent bodies. 
These molecular forces appear to act only through a 
short distance, estimated at less than 1/200,000 of a 
centimetre.* They may be electrical in character; 
some suggestive theories of this have been put 

forward.t 

E. Gravitation. All bodies, from single molecules 
(possibly even electrons) to large aggregations of mole- 
cules, attract one another, with a force varying directly 
as the product of their masses and inversely as the 

*A. Wilmer Duff, Text Book of Physics, 1909, pp. 115, 
146. 

t See articles by Wm. L. Sutherland, Philos. Mag., XVII, 

657; XX, 249. Cf. Lodge, Electrons, 155 ff. 

[62] 






THE UNIVERSAL ENERGY 

square of their distances apart. The force of gravita- 
tion is unique, in that it appears to be independent of 
physical conditions and uninfluenced by the action of 
other forces. It also appears to act instantaneously; 
otherwise the orbit of a planet would be a spiral, not 
a closed curve. 

Before generalizing from this list of forces, and as 
a partial basis for generalization, it will be well for 
us to make a corresponding list of the forms of kinetic 
energy now known to science. Force is best under- 
stood through the work it does. 

I. Electrical energy, represented by the motion of 
the electric charge, either positive or negative, this mo- 
tion being due to the attraction or repulsion of other 
charges or to the action of a magnetic field. The 
motion is in open curves, oscillations or closed orbits. 
The amount of kinetic energy varies from 1/2 mv 2 to 
mv 2 , according to the velocity. The transfer of elec- 
trons constitutes what is known as an electric current, 
and the strength of the current, as we have seen, is 
proportional to the number of electrons transferred in 
unit time. To this transfer of electrons is probably 
due also the phenomenon of chemical affinity and com- 
bination. A certain amount of external energy 
(usually "heat") must be applied before electrons can 
be detached from certain atoms and attach themselves 
to others, giving the two sets of atoms chemical affinity. 
The same is true of the break-up of a chemical com- 
pound. If this general theory is correct, chemical 
energy is but another name for electrical energy. 

[63] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

2. The energy of a magnetic field, due to the kinetic 
energy of an electron or other body, in steady motion. 
It dies away as the motion of the exciting body ceases. 
As a result we have the apparent inertia and mass of 
the electron, or of any moving body. Magnetic energy 
may in turn be transferred by induction to a new body 
that comes within range. 

3. Radiation. 4 The kinetic energy of a beam of light 
is equal to the product of the mass of the light-unit and 
the square of the velocity. On Planck's theory, as I 
understand it, the mass would vary for different wave- 
lengths, the shorter waves representing the greater 
accumulation of energy.* 

On reaching another body, part of the radiant 
energy in a wave is lost through collision, resulting 
either in ionization or in the development of heat. The 
remainder is transferred to electrons or atoms in the 
path of the ray which have the same natural periods 
of vibration. 

4. Molecular energy. Strictly speaking, this is the 
energy due to molecular attraction (D) in the form of 
friction, osmotic pressure, etc. Since this form of 
energy is known to us chiefly through its interchange 

* The longest waves known are those discovered by Hertz 
a few years ago and made use of in wireless telegraphy. 
The shortest "electric" waves discovered are about four- 
tenths of a millimetre in length. Heat waves come next 
in the series (the longest measured are about .06 mm.) 
These merge into the shorter light waves, which vary in 
length for the different rays within and without the visible 
spectrum. (Red waves, .00075 mm.; violet, .00038 mm.; 
shortest waves investigated, .0001.) Rontgen rays come still 
lower in the series. 

[64]' 



THE UNIVERSAL ENERGY 

with heat, it will be convenient to consider under this 
head the energy of molecular motion. Molecules, like 
electrons, are in constant motion. They may occa- 
sionally collide with each other, and in that case change 
velocities with each collision. The mean velocity of 
the molecules in a given volume is the same under the 
same conditions. 

5. What might be termed molar energy. Bodies 
larger than molecules, under the influence of gravita- 
tion, show a form of kinetic energy which it is con- 
venient to distinguish from 4 (though the two may be 
partly or wholly identical). As in the previous forms 
of energy, "natural" motion of the body in a straight 
line is always modified by the attraction of other 
bodies. It may become revolution in an orbit or rota- 
tion on an axis. At the moderate velocities to which 
all bodies larger than electrons or light-units appear to 
be limited, this form of kinetic energy may be stated 
as 1/2 mv 2 . 

Of the forces enumerated, the electrical and mag- 
netic appear to be equivalent and interchangeable. It 
is probably safe to include in this equivalence, under 
certain conditions, the force represented by radiation; 
also to assume that molecular attraction may be ex- 
plained electrically. The five forces known to us 
would thus resolve themselves into two: an electrical 
and a gravitational. 

That all forces are ultimately equivalent is sug- 
gested by the fact that the various forms of kinetic 
energy to which they give rise are, under proper con- 

[65] 



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THE UNIVERSAL ENERGY 

ditions, inter-convertible. I have tried to bring out this 
fact in the accompanying table showing the conver- 
sion of one form of energy into another. The trans- 
formations are not necessarily reversible. But the same 
units and the same mathematical equations may be 
employed for all the forms of kinetic energy given in 
the table. And by including potential energy (force 
multiplied by the distance through which it acts) the 
various forms of energy prove to be exact equivalents. 

This generalization is commonly known as the law 
of the conservation of energy. Assuming that the uni- 
verse is a closed system, the law holds good. The 
energy in the physical universe is changing its forms 
but not its total quantity. 

The idea was put forward, notably by Professor 
Gibbs and Lord Kelvin, that the availability of this 
energy is constantly diminishing, through its trans- 
formation into uniformly-diffused heat. This is un- 
doubtedly true in certain parts of the universe; is it 
true of the universe as a whole? It is too early to 
attempt an answer to this question. In practice, the 
stellar systems seem to be speeding up as well as run- 
ning down. A star appears to pass through a definite 
cycle — starting as a nebula, condensing into a hot star, 
cooling off through radiation, and finally, through 
collision or explosion, being resolved again into a neb- 
ula. Any loss of availability must be extremely slow. 
If there are exceptions to the second law of ener- 
getics, they are to be looked for in the electrical field. 
The chief fund of energy in the universe is not heat, 

[67] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

but the kinetic energy of electrons. The radioactive 
elements, for example, are in process of formation as 
well as decomposition. The same is probably true of 
all the heavier atoms, at a temperature near that of the 
sun. In this process of transmutation, is the energy 
of the elements becoming less available ? 

On the relativity principle, motion is simply the 
change of relation of bodies. This .change of relation 
is associated with the force or forces connecting the 
bodies. What is a force? We do not know. How 
does force initiate motion — cause changes of relation? 
The physical sciences give us no answer. Even the facts 
represented by the word "cause" are obscure. A unit 
— an electron for example — passing through certain 
changes of relation, affects in some way the changes 
of another unit ; similar antecedents of change are 
apparently connected with similar consequents. But 
this is merely a statement of familiar facts, not an ex- 
planation of them. "Cause", for the physical sciences, 
simply means, what we have already stated, that the 
universe is dynamically one. 

The new physics gave us the hypothesis, which fur- 
ther study seems likely to confirm, that the charged 
particle is the unit of the atom, and further that this 
charged particle is not material but merely a center 
of force. Mass is coming to be thought of as a func- 
tion of velocity. Philosophically, therefore, matter is 
identical with energy, and the conservation of matter 
is the conservation of energy. And by energy, to an- 
alyze the concept, we mean in general the sum of the 

[68] 






THE UNIVERSAL ENERGY 

various forms of energy which are found to be opera- 
tive. More particularly, assuming that the electron 
or the electrical doublet will prove to be the unit even 
of gravitation, we mean by energy the centers of force 
which, in their totality, with their accompanying mo- 
tions, make up the physical universe. As far as our 
knowledge goes, there are always the same number of 
centers of electrical force, and their character remains 
constant through all sequences and changes of relation. 

Force plus motion,* or energy, or the physical 
universe (for the three terms are practically inter- 
changeable) appears to be in some measure self-perpet- 
uating and so self-explanatory. Given the proper 
number of unit electric doublets, their evolution and 
perpetuation as a universe is easily conceivable. Our 
minds naturally revert to the words of Herbert Spen- 
cer in one of his later essays, words prophetic in a way 
of the position taken by modern physics, words sug- 
gestive and yet tantalizing in their vagueness: "Amid 
the mysteries which become the more mysterious the 
more they are thought about, there will remain the 
one absolute certainty, that man is ever in presence 
of an Infinite and Eternal Energy, from which all 
things proceed."! 

What do we know about this energy? Of its infin- 
ity we have no evidence ; this term we have seen to be, 

* If the hypothesis of an aether proved to be necessary, we 
must add it to this sum as an unknown quantity. The same 
would be true of a hypothetical matter, as a substratum for 
the electron. 

t Religious Retrospect and Prospect, Pop. Science Monthly, 
XXIV, 351 (1884). 

[69] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

for philosophy, an unjustifiable abstraction, a sea-ser- 
pent drawn on the edge of the map to conceal our 
ignorance. Its eternity is not much more definite. 
Whether the universe is constantly renewing itself or 
whether its total energy is slowly but steadily becoming 
less available is still an unsettled question. How did 
this energy begin, or has it always been as it is today? 
We do not know. We have not even the basis for a 
guess. 

Energy is one manifestation of being. Perhaps it is 
the sole manifestation ; perhaps not — we cannot tell un- 
til we have explored other spheres of reality besides the 
physical. The most important question before us 
is whether, on the basis of the physical evidence, it is 
proper for us to speak of energy as having intelligence. 
The idea of unity carries with it the idea of uniformity. 
Throughout the universe, units of the same class are 
similar. One electron, as far as we can tell, is exactly 
like another ; it has the same charge, the same apparent 
diameter and mass under the same conditions. So with 
atoms of any given composition, and with still more 
complex units. Similar units everywhere change in 
similar ways. There appears to be perfect uniformity 
in the way they affect and are affected by one another. 
It is this uniformity of nature which has enabled us 
to make the generalizations known as physical and 
chemical laws. These laws are unvarying. They have 
not changed in the millions of years during which we 
have been able to trace the history of the universe. 
They enable us, in many cases, to predict the future 

[70] 



THE UNIVERSAL ENERGY 

with the utmost confidence. They are, of course, our 
own abstractions. They may, however, be taken as 
fairly representing the customary relations and se- 
quences of the universal energy. 

What conclusion may we draw from the fact that 
it is possible for us to generalize from the natural 
world — that we are able to frame physical laws and 
categories? Simply this, that nature is uniform, which 
means that we are back where we started. The fur- 
ther conclusion might be drawn that it requires intel- 
ligence for any one to generalize. But to conclude 
the intelligence of the universe from our power intel- 
ligently to comprehend the universe is to read things 
backward. We must keep before us the facts of com- 
parative psychology brought out in our first chapter.* 
"Mind" may have a philosophic value, beyond our 
present sphere, the physical. But our human intelli- 
gence has developed in adjustment to this physical uni- 
verse, which is the chief field of its activity. Our 
minds, like the minds of animals, are tuned to the uni- 
verse, not the universe to our minds. 

Another side of the question of intelligence must be 
considered. Is there evidence of plan and purpose 
in the universe? Taking such facts as crystallization 
and mutual gravitation and the evolution of the stars, 
may we consider them as showing conformity to ideas, 
or to ideal ends ? To our ideas, yes. We have studied 
and experimented and generalized. . But to the ideas of 
an intelligent energy, no. The physical universe may 

* See ante, p. 12. 

[71] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

be considered as manifesting intelligence in its proc- 
esses ; it may j list as easily be conceived as merely auto- 
matic. And when we reach such a Kantian antimony, 
where exactly opposite conclusions may be drawn with 
equal reason, we may be sure that we have gone beyond 
the limits of sound inductive thinking and entered the 
a priori. We cannot even say that the universal energy 
is not an automaton, or a god. Our thought is imping- 
ing against the barrier of the physically unknowable. 
Natural theology may be theological but it is not 
natural. 

It must be confessed that the contribution of the 
physical sciences, taken by themselves, is extremely 
meagre. With all the wonderful increase in our 
knowledge of physical facts, we know but little more 
about the interpretation of these facts than our fathers. 
The scientists of the last generation, who, flushed with 
recent victories, expected their physical laws to ex- 
plain all the facts of existence, were doomed to disillu- 
sion. Physical laws have explained very little for us. 
The scientists of the present generation are more hum- 
ble. They are content with increasing our store of 
knowledge in the physical group, gathering new in- 
scriptions, as it were, while they wait for some Rosetta 
stone to give the clue to their decipherment. 

Let us turn to the organic group of phenomena for 
such contribution as it has to make to the solution of 
the riddle of existence. 



[72] 



PART II 
THE ORGANIC 



CHAPTER VI 

THE EVOLUTION OF LIFE 

A T a certain period in the earth's history we find 
-*■ ** the beginning of a new group of phenomena, the 
organic. From the standpoint of physics, the appear- 
ance of life on this planet is a supernatural event. It 
is an exception to the physical, which hitherto has been 
the natural. Organisms, while to a certain extent fol- 
lowing physical and chemical laws, are not apparently 
to be explained by these. A new science of biology 
arises, with its own laws and categories. 

With the source of "life", unknown before this pe- 
riod, biology is not concerned. It examines, however, 
in connection with geology, the conditions under which 
life first made its appearance. 

I have postponed to this point any reference to the 
physical history of the earth. Our idea of the first 
stages of geology will depend on whether we hold the 
theory of the earth as a molten body that has cooled 
off, or as a body that has grown to its present size 
through the aggregation of meteorites. Fortunately 
the decision of this question is not of great practical 
importance. The two theories come together in the 
Archeozoic Era. To this belong the earliest known 
rocks, chiefly igneous, which are thought to be uni- 

[75] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

versal,and come to the surface on perhaps one-fifth of 
our present land area. 

General Table of Geologic Time Divisions 

Following Chamberlin and Salisbury, Geology, vol. II, 
p. 1 60. 

Cenozoic 

Present » 

Pleistocene — Quaternary 

Pliocene 

Miocene 

Oligocene 

Eocene 

Transition (Arapahoe and Denver' 



►Tertiary 



Mesozoic 



Paleozoic 



Upper Cretaceous 

Lower Cretaceous (Comanche or Shastan 

Jurassic 

Triassic 






Permian 

Coal Measures, or Pennsylvanian 

Subcarboniferous, or Mississippian 

Devonian 

Silurian 

Ordovician 

Cambrian 

Great Unconformity 
Proterozoic 

Keweenawan 

Unconformity 

Animikean (Upper Huronian) 

Unconformity 

Huronian 

Great Unconformity 
Archeozoic — Archean Complex 

Great Granitoid Series (Intrusive in the main, 

Laurentian) 

Great Schist Series (Mona, Kitchi, Keewatin, 

Quinnissec; Lower Huronian of some authors) 

[76] 






THE EVOLUTION OF LIFE 

As to the age of the earth, the subject is in such an 
unsatisfactory state at present that I shall dismiss it 
with a brief notice. Lord Kelvin's argument from the 
cooling of the earth and other physical data gave four 
hundred million years as the maximum for geologic 
time and twenty million as the minimum. He later 
reduced his maximum to one hundred million, and still 
later stated that the time was "more than 29 and less 
than 40 million years and probably much nearer 20 
than 40." The discovery of radioactivity has entirely 
vitiated this argument. Rutherford states that if the 
total mass of the earth contains as much radium as 
does ordinary clay, which yields an appreciable radio- 
active emanation, the present temperature of the earth 
might be maintained by this cause alone. Positive data 
may soon be furnished by the length of time required 
for helium to accumulate in various rocks; this method 
is due to R. J. Strutt. He finds one specimen of tho- 
rianite to be at least two hundred and eighty million 
years old. G. H. Darwin's argument from tidal action 
gives fifty-four million years as the minimum period 
since the separation of the moon from the earth, and 
two hundred million as the maximum, though he occa- 
sionally stretches the maximum to five hundred or 
1,000 million.* 

The arguments from erosion and the thickness of 
strata are equally unsatisfactory. When checked, how- 
ever, by paleontology, they give us the order of the 

* Enc. Brit., art. Geology, vol. II, 650 d; cf. Darwin's 
article on Tides, XXVI, 960 d. 

[77] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

geological periods and some approximation to their 
comparative lengths. As a provisional schedule we may 
take C. D. Walcott's revision of Dana's figures : Paleo- 
zoic era 17,500,000 years, Mesozoic 7,240,000, Ceno- 
zoic 2,900,000.* 

The presence of life during the Archeozoic Era has 
been inferred : First, from the presence of certain rocks, 
such as carbonaceous shales and limestones, which are 
usually the products of organic action. Second, the 
fossil remains found in the rocks of a later era show 
such a high development that it is necessary to assume 
a long previous evolution. Third, the conditions nec- 
essary for life seem to have been fulfilled. The earth 
during the Archeozoic Era was of sufficient mass to 
• retain the lighter molecules which make up an atmos- 
phere and a hydrosphere, a property which the moon 
(about one-eightieth of the earth) lacks, and Mars 
(about one-tenth of the earth) has only to a limited 
extent. The temperature of the earth's surface is sup- 
posed to have been below 100 C, a heat which is de- 
structive to all known life, and yet well above zero. 
Although many forms of life will persist through any 
degree of cold, a certain mildness of temperature is 
necessary for their development. 

In the later eras the rocks have been constantly 

less igneous and more sedimentary. Fossil remains 

begin to appear in the sedimentary rocks of the next, or 

Proterozoic, Era (to adopt the new terminology). 

*Proc. Am. Ass. Adv : Sci., XLII, 129-169 (1893); see 
discussion in H. S. Williams, Geological Biology, 1895, 
Chap. III. 

[78] 



THE EVOLUTION OF LIFE 

The depth of these rocks shows an enormous stretch 
of time, and their formations indicate several radical 
alterations of the earth's surface. With the Cambrian 
Period of the Paleozoic Era we come on abundant fos- 
sils. The sea as it advanced again over the land sur- 
face was full of life, and shells and other remains were 
deposited in the sediment. Plant forms are necessarily 
absent from these deposits, but all branches of the 
animal kingdom are represented except the vertebrate. 
From this time onward the record is fairly complete. 
It is now customary to assign a very much greater value 
to the pre-Cambrian evolution than to the evolution 
which has taken place since the beginning of the Cam- 
brian Period. 

From the study of fossils, in connection with a study 
of existing species, it is possible to put together a his- 
tory of the evolution of living forms on the earth, in 
spite of the many which have completely disappeared or 
are not yet discovered. Embryology comes to our as- 
sistance, for the embryos of most animals pass through 
stages resembling the embryonic stages of their ances- 
tors. We also learn much from reversions and survi- 
vals of earlier characters. 

The simplest forms of life today, which very prob- 
ably are degenerate, are the "monera," usually classed 
with the animal kingdom. They are merely drops of 
protoplasm, and were at first thought to be without 
nucleus or organization of any sort, though nuclear 
material is now known to be distributed in the form 
of granules. They are capable of motion, of securing 

[79] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

and digesting other protoplasm for food, and of repro- 
ducing themselves — sometimes by simple division, some- 
times by the formation of spores. The cell as a whole 
is sensitive to stimuli and able to contract or relax. 

The earliest forms of the plant kingdom, some of 
the so-called algae, are very similar, except that they 
have a distinct nucleus and are provided with plastids. 
Some of them move about in water like the monera ; 
some cling to rocks or other organisms. They repro- 
duce both by division and by spores. From this point, 
plant organisms continue to grow in complexity until 
we reach the elaborate flora of the coal-forming and 
later periods. Their evolution presents many similari- 
ties to that of animals: such as the colonies of cells 
among early forms, the organization of tissues and 
organs, the rise of sexual reproduction, etc. We see 
the decline and extinction of many forms, and the rise 
of improved forms, like the plants with protected seeds 
in the Cretaceous Period. Plants early lose their 
power of free motion. What most distinguishes them 
from animals is the fact that assimilation goes on, for 
the most part, all over the organism instead of in spe- 
cial organs. Except for some low forms, plants feed 
on particles of inorganic matter, while animals live on 
organic. Bergson has called attention to the fact that 
the plant, securing its food directly from mineral 
substances, is able to dispense with movement, and 
wraps itself in a hard membrane, which prevents 
external stimulation, feeling, and the development of 
consciousness. 

[80] 



THE EVOLUTION OF LIFE 

Returning to the evolution of the animal king- 
dom, we find in the next class of the protozoa the rhiz- 
opods, which have definite nuclei. The amoeba is 
perhaps the best known example. It puts out tempo- 
rary feet. Its food, after being engulfed, circulates in 
the form of granules. Some of the rhizopods are 
naked; some are covered with a sort of shell. Other 
classes of protozoa have rudimentary organs, such as 
the flagellating feelers or cilia of the infusoria. Some 
of them form colonies made up of as many as 10,000 
individuals. 

There is a wide gap between the highest protozoa 
and the lowest metazoa, or many-called animals. In 
these the egg, by repeated subdivision, produces an ecto- 
derm, or outer layer of cells, and an endoderm or inner 
layer. Between these there appears, in some cases, 
a mesoderm, in which future eggs develop. The cells, 
instead of being all of one type, are now differentiated 
to a certain extent so as to perform different functions. 

It is impossible for us to take up, except in the most 
general way, the later stages of animal evolution. The 
greater the number of species which come to light, 
the greater the difficulty of naming and classifying, of 
tracing relationships and constructing family trees. 
Among the simpler metazoa, we find three groups of 
species: the sponges; the coelentera, simple aquatic 
animals such as the hydras and sea-anemones, but in- 
cluding also the more highly-organized medusae; and 
the vermes or worms. The latter represent a general- 
ized type that appears in many forms : three layers of 

[81] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

cells, an intestinal canal, a symmetrical body with a 
well-marked head and tail and upside and downside, 
and a nervous system ending in a frontal ganglion or 
brain. In the higher worms, or annelids, of which the 
common earthworm is a somewhat specialized but still 
typical example, the body is divided into a number of 
segments. Some species, like the brachiopods, are pro- 
tected by a shell and may have a rudimentary heart 
and sense organs. 

These three branches of the metazoa are apparently 
parallel. The embryo in each usually passes through 
a stage in which it resembles the simpler forms of pro- 
tozoa. Both the^ developing embryos and some simple 
living forms tend to bridge the gap between protozoa 
and metazoa. All later branches are probably de- 
scended from the worms, though the evidence is not 
always clear. 

The echinoderms, such as the starfish, need not 
detain us. The molluscs are a specialized and widely- 
distributed group. Besides the common shell-fish, we 
have the snail-like forms and the cephalopods. The 
latter, represented by the squid and the octopus, appear 
in the Ordovician Period. They have arms coming out 
from the head, a rudimentary brain-box, and highly- 
developed eyes. Well-protected, highly-organized and 
very powerful, the cephalopods dominated the waters 
of that day. 

The arthropods are an immense group comprising 
more than 200,000 species, or more than half the ani- 
mal species known. They include such divergent types 

[82] 



THE EVOLUTION OF LIFE 

as crustaceans, centipedes, insects and scorpions. Their 
common characteristics are jointed jaws, legs and 
bodies, symmetrical structure and hard skin. A large 
proportion of them are organized for life on land. 
The joint represents a great advance in structure. 
Arthropods often reach a high organic and nervous 
development, as in the famous trilobites of the geologi- 
cal middle ages, the lobsters and crabs, the spiders, 
the bees and the ants. 

Between the worms and the vertebrates it is now 
customary to place several transitional types, such as 
the tunicates and the amphyoxus. Though more or 
less degenerate, they are considered to be descended 
from an ancestor closely related to the ancestor of the 
vertebrates. The noto-chord or axial rod is of cartilage 
rather than bone, but over this (in the tunicates) lies 
a rudimentary nervous system, ending in a brain and 
brain-eye, and the heart periodically reverses the blood- 
current. 

In the vertebrates proper we reach the most success- 
ful experiments in organism and the highest animal 
forms. The embryo passes through a long series of 
changes, beginning as a simple "protozoic" cell, which 
repeatedly subdivides, passing through a worm-like 
stage. The three layers of cells develop into 
three sets of organs: the ectoderm into outer skin, 
sense organs and nervous system; the endoderm into 
stomach, intestines, lungs, etc. ; the mesoderm into 
inner skin, muscles, connective tissue, bony skeleton 
and organs of reproduction. 

[8 3 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

The vertebrates appear late in history, the earliest 
specimens being low fish forms. The elasmobranchs, 
an order of fish with skeletons of cartilage instead of 
bone (still represented by the sharks and skates), first 
appear in force at the end of the Silurian Period. In 
the closing years of the Paleozoic Era these reach a 
remarkable development, especially along the line of 
size and attacking power. They are succeeded by the 
armored fish, and these in turn by the modern bony 
type. One very old order, the dipnoi or mud-fish, are 
provided with lungs and some other transitional fea- 
tures. 

In the amphibians or batrachians, undoubtedly de- 
rived from some primitive fish form, fully developed 
lungs are present and the gills tend to be lost ; the limbs 
end in fingers in place of fins ; the heart has three cham- 
bers instead of two. Both amphibians and dipnoid fish 
are found in the closing periods of the Paleozoic Era. 
The changes in the earth's surface with which the era 
closed — the spread of glaciers and of arid regions — de- 
stroyed many of the existing species in the various 
branches. For this very reason the period was one 
favorable to the production of new forms. The rep- 
tiles diverge from the amphibian type. They are essen- 
tially land animals. 

The Mesozoic Era has been termed the Age of Rep- 
tiles. The saurians and other strange monsters appar- 
ently ruled both land and sea. Some of these were 
winged and represent the earliest bird type. Birds are 
undoubtedly descended from some Mesozoic reptile. 

[8 4 ] 



THE EVOLUTION OF LIFE 

They are highly organized and very active. Birds, like 
mammals, are warm-blooded, with a rapid circulation 
of oxygen, and show a high mental development; eye 
and ear organs are perfected. 

Mammals of some sort also appear quite early but 
their evolution from reptiles has followed an entirely 
different line. Practically all mammals have the class 
features — hair-covering, sweat and fat glands, brain 
with four optic lobes ("corpora quadrigemina"), dia- 
phragm separating heart and lungs from the abdominal 
cavity, and heart with a single left aortic arch. The 
hemispheres of the upper brain are of increased size. 
Many parts of the mammalian skeleton are also distinc- 
tive. The normal type has four limbs, twenty toes 
and forty-four teeth. Almost all are gregarious. The 
young when born are fed by the mother from milk 
specially secreted. 

The earliest type of mammals, the monotremes, 
which begin to appear in the Triassic Period of the 
Mesozoic Era, closely resemble certain types of extinct 
reptiles (cynodontia). They lay eggs, like most of the 
lower animals. The young are nourished by means of 
a temporary pocket (which answers the purpose of 
teats), and glands which resemble sweat-glands. All 
higher mammals are now generally classed as eutheria, 
distinguished by teats, and milk-glands which appear to 
be specialized fat-glands. They undoubtedly go back to 
the Jurassic Period, though fossil remains are rare. 
The marsupials, once thought to be the ancestors of 
the other eutheria, are now recognized as a very old 

[85] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

side-line, highly specialized and in some ways degener- 
ate; the young are born alive after a short period 
of gestation and carried in a pouch by the mother. 

The Cenozoic or Modern Era opens with the disap- 
pearance of the great saurian reptiles, and the entrance 
of the placental mammals. This revolution corre- 
sponds to the rise of plants with protected seeds at a 
slightly earlier period. With such a food supply the 
evolution of the placentals from the small generalized 
type was very rapid. The placenta for nourishing the 
embryo enabled them to maintain it in the womb for 
a longer period, varying roughly according to the bulk 
of the animal (three weeks in hares, forty weeks in the 
cow and in man, and ninety weeks in the elephant). 
The state of development at birth varies with different 
types, helplessness and so a lengthened period of in- 
fancy being common among the carnivora and others 
which are able to defend their young. All the sense 
organs are perfected. The cerebellum, greatly in- 
creased in size, is formed of a central lobe and two side 
lobes. The cerebral hemispheres tend to cover the 
lower regions of the brain, and their surface, with few 
exceptions, is convoluted instead of smooth. The size 
and complexity of the brain are proportioned to the 
bulk as well as to the intelligence of the species. 

The ancestral lines of the placentals are still in some 
doubt. The original type of the upper Cretaceous Pe- 
riod, related to the ancestors of the monotremes and 
marsupials, was probably a small creature, living partly 
in trees, equipped with a snout and subsisting on insects, 

[86] 



THE EVOLUTION OF LIFE 

fruit, or whatever food came in its way. From this 
type the lemurs of the Eocene Period are supposed to 
be derived.* These are undoubtedly the ancestors of 
the true apes, which appear in the Miocene. They 
are generally classed together as primates. Comparing 
existing primates which may be considered as somewhat 
representative, such as the sloths, the lemurs, and the 
various anthropoidea, we notice a constant increase 
in intelligence, registered by the development of the 
brain and the increasing size and prominence of the 
head. There is also a tendency for the front feet to 
change into hands, and later still for the body to be- 
come vertical. There is an increasing prolongation of 
infancy. Mammalian development as a whole reaches 
its climax in the Eocene and Miocene Periods; the 
later periods show a decline in most of the orders. 

A hasty and imperfect sketch like the foregoing can 
give but a little idea of the evolution of fauna from one 
period to another, the fossils in many cases showing 
unquestionably that the forms of one period or sub- 
division of a period were the ancestors of divergent 
forms in the next. The general hypothesis of evolution 
01 descent may be considered as established. The total 
number of distinct (Linnaean) "species" of animals 
and plants now existing on the earth, if all were listed, 
would probably mount into the millions, and the exist- 
ing species cannot be more than a small. per cent of 
those which have become extinct. All classification is, 

* See discussion and references in The Orders of Mam- 
mals, Wm. K. Gregory, Bull. Am. Museum of Natural 
History, XXVII (1910). 

[87] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

of course, conventional. In a sense, individuals alone 
exist. Species and even orders and branches, as these 
terms are ordinarily used, shade into each other. De 
Vries contends, and probably with reason, that the true 
unit is the variety, or "elementary species", whose 
limits can only be determined by pedigree culture, but 
which breeds true under all conditions and is distin- 
guishable from its neighbors in almost all organs. 
Thus the common species draba verna, or whitlow 
grass, is composed of over two hundred elementary 
species. Distinct from these are the "retrograde varie- 
ties", which have lost some distinctive character of 
their ancestors, such as coloring, spines, etc.* 

Reference should be made to the facts covered by 
the term "environment." Conditions surrounding or- 
ganisms are both physical and social, and subject to 
changes of various sorts. To quote from Chamberlin 
and Salisbury, we must recognize: "(i) rather abrupt 
changes brought about by overwhelming invasions; 

(2) less abrupt changes brought about by the more 
gradual inflow of foreign species, and the gradual com- 
mingling of the immigrants with the resident species; 

(3) very gradual changes, or nearly constant states, 
due to the slow evolution of resident species when not 
much affected by immigration or by physical changes; 
and (4) more rapid evolution due to profound changes 
in the physical conditions or in other agencies affecting 
the life, including perhaps the unknown causes that 
may have brought about a mutating stage simulta- 

* Hugo de Vries, Species and Varieties, Chicago, 1905, 
pp. 12. 153. 

■ ' ' [88] 



THE EVOLUTION OF LIFE 

neously in large numbers of the leading species."* The 
greatest changes in fauna are those marking the close of 
eras and periods, but radical changes also occur within 
the periods. Thus there are three stages of life within 
the Cambrian : the lower, middle and upper. The De- 
vonian shows five distinct faunas invading the conti- 
nent of North America, partly in succession, partly 
simultaneously. Each commingled with the previous 
fauna, and their conflict resulted in the elimination of 
some species, the readjustment of others and the fusion 
of others. 

A study of comparative anatomy would reveal a 
wide range of experimenting in nature. In order to 
survive, organisms must adapt themselves, generation 
after generation, to these varying physical and social 
conditions. But under this general law the develop- 
ment of organs in the different branches and classes is 
sometimes parallel, sometimes quite diverse. Even 
where the development is parallel, it is analogous 
rather than homologous or structural. Thus, four dif- 
ferent types of wings have been developed, for the same 
purpose, by insects, reptiles, birds and mammals. The 
eye-organ shows a homologous development as far up 
as certain worms and their descendants. The original 
pigment spot, with a simple mechanism for breaking up 
the rays of light so as to distinguish light from dark- 
ness, becomes a mass of pigment cells covering a series 
of rods which end in a nerve, and to this in turn is 
added a projecting lens. But here the homology 

* Chamberlin and Salisbury, Geology, II, 296. 

[89] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

ceases. The highly-developed eyes of the cuttlefish 
only superficially resemble those of a vertebrate. They 
lie on the outside of the head instead of being brain- 
eyes, the rods are turned toward the eye-opening rather 
than away from it, and there are other fundamental 
differences in structure. 

Passing to the question of the origin of species, we 
speak a different language today from the science of a 
generation ago. A new era has been opened by the 
work of Batteson and de Vries. There. is not yet the 
same unanimity as in the new physics, and all state- 
ments and conclusions are subject to change without 
notice. Variation^ now stands out as the most promi- 
nent factor in the evolution of species. 

Darwin, and especially his successors the strict "Dar- 
winians", put the emphasis upon minute differences in 
size, color, etc., and the evolution of species was con- 
ceived as a summation of such minute individual dif- 
ferences during a long period. That such variations 
exist is very evident; the resemblance of offspring and 
parent is never complete, even in parthenogenesis. 
These fluctuations have been studied in recent years by 
statistical methods. They are found to occur accord- 
ing to the law of chance, and there always tends to be 
retrogression toward the mean of the race. The more 
*we know about fluctuations, the less it seems possible 
for species to originate in this way. The old "Darwin- 
ism" has been discarded by the majority of progressive 
scientists.* 

* Detailed reasons are given in many works: e.g. Kel- 
logg, Darwinism Today, 1907; T. H. Morgan, Evolution and 
Adaptation, 1903, an invaluable book. 

[90] 



THE EVOLUTION OF LIFE 

On the other hand, increasing emphasis has been put 
on sudden, discontinuous variations, formerly known 
as " sports," and now generally termed "mutations." 
These may be large or small, do not follow the law of 
chance, are of rare occurrence (though in any given 
case the same or similar modifications are often exhib- 
ited by a number of individuals), display a new charac- 
ter or characters, and breed true. It is these muta- 
tions which give rise to "elementary species" without 
transitional links. A new position of organic equi- 
librium has been reached at a single bound. "When 
a mutation has occurred," says de Vries, "a new 
species is already in existence, and will remain in 
existence, unless all the progeny of the mutation are 
destroyed." 

In the classical example, de Vries found an evening 
primrose in a new environment that seemed to be in a 
variable mood, producing seven distinct new species in 
a few years, the new individuals breeding true. In 
seven generations, from seeds of the original species, 
about 50,000 plants were obtained, of which about 
eight hundred were mutations, the seven new species 
claiming from one to three hundred and fifty each. 
There were a few other variants that were either 
inconstant or sterile. Each form differed from the 
others in a large number of particulars. Mutations 
occurred as freely in the wild forms as in those under 
cultivation.* 

Some species of domesticated animals are known to 

* Species and Varieties, p. 521 ff. 

[91] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

have arisen by mutation, and further study is increasing 
the number of plants where this is known to take place. 
Further examples are needed, and expected with some 
confidence. Probably the mutation theory may be con- 
sidered to have won its way. 

That mutations can avoid being swamped by cross- 
breeding and so give rise to new species is due to what 
is known as Mendel's law. When organisms of two 
distinct elementary species — for example, tall and 
dwarf varieties — are crossed, one character is likely to 
prove dominant, the other recessive. In the first gener- 
ation, the progeny will all apparently be of the domi- 
nant type — that is, in this case, they will all be 
tall. If allowed to fertilize themselves, however, the 
two original types emerge again in the second genera- 
tion, in the proportion of three dominants to one reces- 
sive, or three tall to one dwarf. The recessives and one- 
third of the dominants are pure — that is, they breed 
true in subsequent generations. The other dominants 
are in reality mixed, giving rise to the same proportion, 
three dominants to one recessive, and so on indefinitely. 
If one of the organisms — for example, the dwarf — is 
a mutation, the result is the establishment of a new 
elementary species. This is possible even in the case 
of a single mutation or sport which for some reason 
does not fertilize its own offspring, but crosses with the 
old type. We will suppose that the mutation and the 
old type have antagonistic characters. Experiment 
shows that the strain of the new character cannot be 
lost, as long as normal reproduction continues. A pure 

[92] 



THE EVOLUTION OF LIFE 

specimen of the new type is likely to appear in the third 
generation of offspring. 

Since species usually differ in more than one char- 
acter, the effects of crossing will generally be much 
more complicated than in the example given. Men- 
del's law has been strikingly confirmed with a consid- 
erable number of animals and plants. We may say 
further, in interpretation of the law, that hybrids act as 
they would if the germ-cells of each species contained 
a number of distinct and often antagonistic unit-char- 
acters, such as tallness and dwarfness, capable of being 
segregated, as in the germ-cells of the pure dominants 
and recessives, but not actually blended. The list of 
such unit-characters is still somewhat limited, and 
Mendel's law has not yet been extended successfully 
to man and to some of the higher domestic animals. In 
many species — for example, different races of men — 
crossing produces a blend, such as mulatto or quadroon, 
which breeds true in color, though probably following 
Mendel's law as to physiognomy. 

Natural selection is now considered to be, what it 
was for Darwin himself, the mechanical weeding-out 
of organisms and species unadapted or less adapted than 
others to their environment. But this means that "the 
theory of natural selection has nothing to do with the 
origin of species, but with the survival of already 
formed species."* The factor of struggle was prob- 
ably exaggerated by Darwin, and we now know that 
it is not absolutely necessary for a variation to be use- 

* T. H. Morgan, Pop. Science Monthly, 64 (1905); 

[93] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

ful in order to survive. As Morgan says: "If we sup- 
pose that new mutations and 'definitely' inherited 
variations suddenly appear, some of which will find 
an environment to which they are more or less well 
fitted, we can see how evolution may have gone on 
without assuming new species have been formed 
through a process of competition. Nature's supreme 
test is survival. She makes new forms to bring them 
to this test through mutation, and does not remodel 
old forms through a process of individual selection."* 
All that is necessary is that organs showing mutation 
should be, as a whole, "sufficiently adapted to get a 
foothold." 

The question of the origin of species is resolving 
itself into the question of the origin of mutations. No 
satisfactory answer has yet been given. Nagel's the- 
ory of a natural tendency in the organism toward prog- 
ress must be looked on with suspicion. It is even 
doubtful whether there is any inherent tendency 
toward variation. Ordinary fluctuating variations 
seem to be due to slight differences in the life-history 
of the different germ-cells ; it is possible that mutations 
merely represent more or greater differences in this 
life-history. There are many indications that muta- 
tions are connected with a change in the environment 
of the organism. The difficulty with this is that the 
origin of a mutation must be found in the germ-cell, 
and we as yet know of no way by which environment 
can definitely affect the germ-cell. Luther Burbank 

* Evolution and Adaptation, 464. 

[94] 



THE EVOLUTION OF LIFE 

considers that mutations occur chiefly under the stimu- 
lus of new conditions of nutrition. "These variations 
are the effect of past environment, . . . having re- 
mained latent until opportunity for their development 
occurs. Starvation causes reversions, but reversions can 
also be produced by unusually rich nutrition. New 
variations are developed most often, as far as environ- 
mental influences go, by rich soil and generally favor- 
able conditions."* Crossing also tends to produce (or 
release) mutations. Further discussion of this sub- 
ject may be. postponed until the next chapter. The 
origin of variation is to be learned, if at all, through a 
study of the cell. 

Given one-celled organisms, given also an environ- 
ment partly constant, partly changing, and a sufficient 
time, and the evolution of the higher mammals is eas- 
ily conceivable, on the mutation theory. On the whole, 
with many a back current, the movement of evolution 
has been upward. Generalized types have given place 
to those which are more specialized. Not only do we 
have special adaptations to special conditions, but there 
has been a gradual perfection of bodily structure, as 
well as intelligence, along a number of different lines. 
Thus the molluscs ended in the cephalopods, the rep- 
tiles in the saurians, and the mammals in man. Spe- 
cialization, however, is usually carried too far and leads 
to extinction. With the restriction of natural selection 
to the function of weeding out the unfit, a good deal 
of the "blood" has been taken from our picture of the 

•V. L. Kellogg, Pop. Science Monthly, LXIX, 363 

(.906). s] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

evolutionary process. Bitter struggle for existence, 
especially within the same species, is not a necessary 
factor. 

Does the evolution of species lead us to assume an 
intelligent direction of the process? Not necessarily. 
The only external factor for which we have any evi- 
dence is the passive factor of environment. If there 
was any directing, it was with a very loose rein. Or- 
ganisms, or at least mutating organisms, were appar- 
ently given the chance to see what they could make of 
themselves. Evolution seems to have been a kind of 
laissez faire on a grand scale. 

The presence of organic and especially plant life dur- 
ing a long period has resulted in striking physical 
changes on this planet. Our present atmosphere is 
probably quite different in its proportions of oxygen 
and carbon dioxide, on account of the absorption of the 
former and discharge of the latter by all known organ- 
isms. The land surface is largely covered with green 
plants, whose leaves on the one hand prevent erosion, 
and whose roots on the other hand tend to break up 
physical masses and even molecules. Organisms have 
transferred and deposited vast amounts of inorganic 
material. Through their refuse and their own decom- 
position they have originated the long series of lime- 
stone rocks, the carbonaceous formations, the phosphate 
and nitrate beds, the corals and fossils, as well as the 
countless new acids and other compounds of organic 
chemistry. Great is the transforming power of organ- 
isms, even before the appearance of man. 

[96] 



CHAPTER VII 

THE CELL 

EVERY living being is made up of one or more 
cells, or organized masses of "protoplasm." These 
cells are microscopic in size, except in the case of some 
egg-cells, which grow to large proportions. The 
human ovum, a typical cell, is about 1/125 of an inch 
(2 mm.) in diameter. Although cells differ widely in 
structure and behavior, even to the extent of showing 
"individuality", all cells are of one general type, 
whether animal or vegetable, whether constituting the 
whole of a one-celled creature or making any one of 
the millions of specialized cells in the human body, 
whether body-cells, entering into the composition of 
some tissue, nerve, organ or fluid, or germ-cells from 
which complex organisms may in time develop. 

The cell consists essentially of a cell-body and a 
nucleus. The material of the cell-body, known collec- 
tively as cytoplasm, contains most of the chemical 
elements included in protoplasm — carbon, oxygen, ni- 
trogen, hydrogen and sulphur — which are present in 
elaborate and somewhat unstable compounds, showing 
wide variation.* The cell-body often contains smaller 

* To illustrate, the following formulae have been proposed 
for the albumins, some of the most characteristic of these 
compounds: egg-albumin, C 2 3 9 H 386 N 58 S 2 78 ; serum or blood 
albumin, C 45 oH 7 2oN 116 S 6 140 . Philip B. Hoyt, Practical Phys- 
\olog. Chem., 1909, p. 62. 

[97] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

bodies, or plastids, apparently identical in substance, 
but capable in many cases of independent growth and 
division. These seem to be centers of chemical activity, 
especially in plants. Various lifeless bodies are also 
carried in suspension, such as food granules, sand, drops 
of oil or water, and waste. A great ma$s of reserve 
food is often accumulated, as in the yolk of the hen's 
egg. Portions of the cell-body deprived of a nucleus 
will, in many cases, survive for a time, moving about 
and rejecting waste, but they are incapable of either 
secretion, digestion or reproduction. 

The nucleus is generally a distinct region of the cell, 
though in some cases the characteristic nuclear mate- 
rials are scattered through the cell-body in the form of 
minute granules. The typical nucleus consists of a net- 
work made up of two constituents — linin, related 
chemically to the substances found in the cell-body, and 
a substance known as chromatin or nuclein — with a 
ground-substance or sap filling the interstices. 

The chromatin, which appears to be the principal 
nuclear substance, with power to produce and deter- 
mine the character of all the rest, is usually, during 
the resting stage of the cell, suspended as granules in 
the linin network. During the ripening of the cell it 
forms a number of masses called chromosomes. 

"Nuclein", which reaches its greatest purity in chro- 
mosomes, has a very distinct chemical composition, rich 
in phosphorus and with practically no sulphur. Dur- 
ing the resting stage the chromatin increases greatly 
in bulk, through the combination of nucleinic acid with 

[981 



THE CELL 

albuminous matter. As the growth of cytoplasm is 
especially active during this stage, the nucleinic acid 
evidently plays a leading role in the metabolism of the 
cell. The nucleus is undoubtedly the center for con- 
structive as the cytoplasm is the center for destructive 
metabolism. Not only is constructive metabolism im- 
possible without a nucleus, but in some cases (for 
example, the growth of cell walls in plants) the nucleus 
moves to the point where growth is to be most active. 
The differentiation of the cell into nucleus and cyto- 
plasm is evidently, as Wilson says, "the expression of 
a fundamental physiological division of labor in the 
cell."* 

Another cell organ or cell region, the centrosome, 
has aroused a good deal of controversy. It has impor- 
tant functions in cell-division, and is found in the cyto- 
plasm not far from the nucleus, into which it migrates 
during division. Like the plastids and chromosomes, 
the centrosomes appear to be capable of independent 
assimilation, growth and division. Boveri's theory that 
the centrosome was a permanent cell organ, the "dy- 
namic center" of the cell, cannot be held in its original 
form. In many of the higher plants no centrosomes 
have been found, and in other cases they disappear at 
the close of cell-division, to be formed .again later, per- 
haps at the same point. They are evidently more or 
less persistent centers of chemical activity. Centro- 
somes have been artificially developed in the cell by 
treatment with sea water or other solutions. 

*E. B. Wilson, The Cell, 358. 

[99] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

The cell multiplies by division, and every cell is 
derived from some pre-existing cell. In normal divi- 
sion, by "mitosis," the centrosome divides and enters 
the region hitherto known as the nucleus. The chro- 
matin decreases rapidly in bulk and increases in chem- 
ical strength (especially in the amount of phosphorus) 
and changes from a network into one or more threads. 
These in turn break up into the chromosomes. Each 
species has a definite and apparently arbitrary number 
of these, practically always even, ranging from two to 
one hundred and sixty-eight. They are remarkably 
persistent, both in number and substance. Each chro- 
mosome now splits lengthwise into exactly similar 
halves. The two groups of halves aggregate into new 
nuclei, and the entire cell divides into two new cells 
like unto the first. The essence of the process is the 
receiving by the daughter nuclei of exactly similar por- 
tions of chromatin. Artificial mitosis has been pro- 
duced by chemical stimulation. 

Passing to the germ-cells, we find that here division 
is associated with an exactly opposite process — conjuga- 
tion. In some of the lowest forms ordinary mitosis 
may be sufficient for the perpetuation of the species, 
though even this is not certain. But in almost all cases, 
even among unicellular forms, "the series of cell divi- 
sions tends to run in cycles, in each of which the energy 
of division finally comes to an end and is only restored 
by an admixture of living matter derived from another 
cell."* 

*Id., 178. 

[ 100] 



THE CELL 

We may quote a further summary from Prof. 
Wilson: "In the lowest forms, such as the unicellular 
algae, the conjugating cells are, in a morphological 
sense, precisely equivalent, and conjugation takes place 
between corresponding elements, nucleus uniting with 
nucleus, cell-body with cell-body, and even, in some 
cases, plastid with plastid. . . . As we rise in the scale, 
the conjugating cells diverge more and more, until in 
the higher plants and animals they differ widely not 
only in form and size, but also in their internal struc- 
ture, and to such an extent that they are no longer 
equivalent either morphologically or physiologically. 
Both in animals and in plants the paternal germ-cell 
loses most of its cytoplasm, the main bulk of which, 
and hence the main body of the embryo, is now supplied 
by the egg; and in the higher plants the egg alone 
supplies the plastids, which are thus supplied by the 
mother alone. On the other hand, the paternal germ- 
cell is the carrier of something which incites the egg to 
development, and thus constitutes the fertilizing ele- 
ment in the narrower sense. There is strong ground 
for the conclusion that in the animal spermatozoon this 
element is, if not an actual centrosome, a body or a 
substance directly derived from a centrosome of the 
parent body and contained in the middle piece. . . . 
Like mitosis, fertilization is perhaps at bottom a chem- 
ical process, the stimulus to development being given by 
a specific chemical substance carried in some cases by 
an individualized centrosome or one of its morpholog- 
ical products, in other cases by less definitely formed 

[10!] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

material. . . . Through the differentiation between 
the paternal and germ-cells in the higher forms indi- 
cated above, their original morphological equivalence is 
lost and only the nuclei remain of exactly the same 
value. This is shown by their history in fertilization, 
each giving rise to the same number of chromosomes 
exactly similar in form, size, and staining-reactions, 
equally distributed by cleavage to the daughter-cells, 
and probably to all the cells of the body. We thus find 
the essential fact of fertilization and sexual reproduc- 
tion to be a union of equivalent nuclei, and to this all 
other processes are tributary."* 

The ripening of the germ-cells preparatory to con- 
jugation is of great interest. In both the maternal and 
the paternal cells the number of chromosomes is re- 
duced to one-half the typical number, as a preparation 
for their future union, in order to hold the number 
constant. In the case of the paternal cell, this reduc- 
tion is effected by two divisions, through which the nu- 
clear material is distributed among four spermatozoa, 
only one of which is to take part in fertilization. Each 
has one-half the typical number of chromosomes. In 
the egg-cell there is a parallel process by which three of 
the four cells are discarded, though persisting for a time 
as "polar bodies." In many cases, with both maternal 
and paternal cells, the masses of chromatin show a 
cleavage into four, in preparation for the two matura- 
tion divisions of the cell. The first cleavage is length- 
wise, as in the usual mitosis. Some students of the 

* Id., 229. 

[ 102] 



THE CELL 

subject — for example, Weismann — have claimed that 
the second cleavage is crosswise, and so preserves (in 
the egg-cell or successful spermatozoon) or rejects 
(in the polar bodies) any particular region of the 
chromatin-thread. On this Weismann's theory of 
heredity was largely based. To a certain extent the 
facts bear out this theory, but there is not as yet evi- 
dence for the universality either of tetrad formation 
or of this transverse cleavage. 

Experiments by Delage show that fertilization may 
take place between a spermatozoon and a fragment of 
an ovum which contains a nucleus. Loeb has demon- 
strated the converse, that a sperm-nucleus may be dis- 
pensed with, by inducing artificial parthenogenesis 
through chemical treatment. In other words, both the 
paternal and the maternal germ-cells of early forms 
are completely equipped for reproducing the organism. 
In natural parthenogenesis, which alternates with sex- 
ual fertilization in many early forms, the germ-cell 
ripens, in the same individual, in one of two ways. 
Either one polar body is formed and discarded without 
reduction of the chromosomes, or a second polar body 
is formed, accompanied by reduction, and, remaining 
in the egg, plays the part of a sperm-nucleus. 

The typical cell has the power of producing, by divi- 
sion, other cells like itself.* On the other hand, the 
fertilized egg (however fertilization may have taken 
place) by an exactly similar process of division gives 

* Nerve-cells have probably lost the power of division, 
and connective tissue-cells, gland-cells and muscle-cells di- 
vide only under special conditions. 

[ 103 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

rise to cells showing progressive differentiation, and 
the division of labor necessary to the organism. This 
distinction between body- and germ-cells is itself a 
division of labor. In some of the colony-cells of the 
protozoa two kinds of cells are already found — a few 
large germ-cells, and a large number of smaller cells, 
used for metabolism and locomotion, which are com- 
paratively short-lived. Weismann has emphasized the 
continuity of the germ-plasm, and the general truth of 
his position is fairly well established. The cells which 
are from the first differentiated as germ-cells (or, 
which remain unspecialized ) continue to produce other 
germ-cells of the same sort until fertilization occurs. 
They then give rise to body-cells, but there is no known 
way by which the body-cells in their turn can affect 
the germ-cells. There seems to be no machinery 
through which characters acquired by the organism 
can be transmitted, unless in a general way through 
good or bad nutrition. But this apparent negative 
may be due to our imperfect knowledge of the 
subject. 

We as yet know little of the mechanism of inheri- 
tance, in spite of the many theories on the subject. In 
the early cleavages of the fertilized egg, the size and 
position of each cell is directly related to the part 
of the body to which it gives rise. In fact, the egg 
itself in many cases shows indications of future lines 
of cleavage. Cleavages continue to follow one another 
with great rapidity until the plant or animal ap- 
proaches its hereditary limit of growth. 

[104] 



THE CELL 

In some animals, as high in the scale as the amphi- 
oxus, the protoplasm of the egg seems for several divi- 
sions to be "toti-potent" — able by rearrangement to 
produce a relatively complete organism from any one 
of the dividing cells. Thus, if one of the first two 
cells of the amphioxus is isolated, it will give rise to a 
regular amphioxus of reduced size. In experiments 
on frogs in the two-celled stage it was found that one 
of the cells will give rise to a half-embryo, if left in its 
normal position. If inverted, it will give rise either to 
a half-embryo or to a whole dwarf. Almost all sim- 
ple animal organisms have this power, as seen not only 
in regeneration of lost parts but in frequent reproduc- 
tion by budding. Many of the higher plants retain 
the power of total regeneration, but in animals it is 
soon lost. This, in turn, might be due to the gradual 
differentiation of the cell-nuclei — that is, to a distribu- 
tion of the various modifications present in the chro- 
matin of the fertilized egg (Weismann's determinants, 
Driesch's ferments). But such a view is still hypothet- 
ical, or worse. 

There has been much study and much controversy 
over the question of biological units. Are there units 
intervening between molecules and cells? We cannot 
give such a character to the chromosomes, for these 
appear to fuse during the resting stage. Nor are we 
justified in treating the chromatin granules as per- 
sistent individuals. In unicellular organisms with a 
distributed nucleus these granules seem to persist, and 
divide to form new granules. But in higher forms, 

[ io 5 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

although division may take place, the granules fuse and 
their number is not constant. In the cytoplasm, dis- 
tinct granules are often present, but there is no evidence 
that they are individual units. The persistence and 
division of plastids and centrosomes is suggestive but 
no more. If smaller biological units exist, they must 
be below the limit of microscopic vision. Many facts 
— for example, Mendel's law — point toward such a 
theory, which would clear up the biological field as 
electrons have cleared up the physical, but it has as yet 
no solid basis in fact. Weismann's elaborate theory of 
units has its basis chiefly in imagination. 

In the case of unicellular organisms, and also of the 
germ-cells, at least in certain stages, the cell is an inde- 
pendent living being, carrying on the several co-opera- 
tive activities which are necessary to life. All cells 
have a certain amount of independence, more or less 
according to their place and function in the body. But 
the trend of biological opinion is against treating the 
organism as a colony or republic of co-operating units, 
and toward the view "that life can only be properly 
regarded as a property of the cell-system as a whole."* 
Even the independent functions of the different cells 
— metabolism, regeneration, etc. — are definitely cor- 
related with the organization and condition of the body. 
Apart from the whole a cell soon dies, unless, in some 
cases, grafted on another whole, or, in other cases, 
becoming itself a new organism. This question will be 
discussed more fully in Chapter IX. 

* Wilson, p. 29. 

[106] 



THE CELL 

A subject of great interest and importance, as yet 
little studied, is the mechanism by which the different 
cells are connected with each other and so coordinated 
to form a complete organism. Protoplasmic bridges 
are known to connect the cells of nearly all plant and 
many animal tissues. It has been shown that the mem- 
brane-forming power of certain plant-cells, when 
deprived of a nucleus, is due to connection by proto- 
plasmic strands with a nucleated fragment. There is 
some evidence that cell-bridges may be formed and 
re-formed with great freedom. 

Cells when studied in section under the microscope 
are necessarily solid. The living cell is partially liquid. 
It is not only surrounded but permeated by water (pro- 
toplasm contains about eighty per cent) and the jelly of 
the cytoplasm liquifies at death. The reactions of 
physiological chemistry may be said to be reactions in 
solution. Such complicated changes and exchanges 
could not take place in any other state. 

The molecules held in solution and taking part in 
these reactions are classified as either colloids or crys- 
talloids. Colloids may be defined as non-conducting, 
asymmetrical, jelly-like molecules, of great molecular 
weight, which diffuse with extreme slowness if at all. 
They constitute the principal and distinctive material 
of protoplasm. The important thing to remember 
about colloids is their great bulk. They are very un- 
stable, constantly passing into new combinations. 
They do not leave the cell, or their department of the 
cell, unless broken up into smaller molecules. 

[ 107] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

Crystalloids, on the other hand,* are small symmet- 
rical molecules which diffuse rapidly in solution, even 
through a colloidal membrane. Diffusion through a 
membrane of some sort is known as osmosis. The 
solutions on either side of the semi-permeable wall seek 
to reach an equilibrium. The rate of diffusion and the 
"osmotic pressure" vary, in a rough proportion, directly 
with the number of molecules (concentration of the 
solution) and their velocity (temperature) and in- 
versely with their size. In general, it is the crystalloid 
molecules present in the fluid surrounding the cell 
which take part in osmosis, through the cell wall or 
boundary. They then diffuse through the cytoplasm 
and nucleus, and act upon or combine with the colloids. 
Water diffuses rapidly in the same way in and out of 
the cell, according to the pressure. The same result 
may be reached by filtration through minute tubes, as 
in the capillaries of the blood vessels. The energy 
transformations involved in all these processes (consid- 
ered by themselves, without reference to what initiates 
or controls the transformation) are as purely physical 
as if we were dealing with solutions of mineral salts.f 

These statements may be illustrated by a brief out- 
line of the process of metabolism, through which the 
cell is able to continue its life. Taking first the case 
of plants, we find that the necessary carbon is obtained 

* The two classes undoubtedly shade into each other. See 
Zsigmondy, Colloids and the Ultramicroscope, trans, by J. 
Alexander, New York, 1909. 

f For a discussion of the energetics of solution, see the 
volume edited by Leonard Hill, Recent Advances in Physiol- 
ogy and Bio-Chemistry, London, 1905, Chap. II et passim. 

[108] 



THE CELL 

from the air, where small quantities are present in 
combination with oxygen in the form of carbonic acid 
gas (CO2). The carbon is extracted by means of 
the chlorophyll grains or bands found in the plant cell 
or in the outer cells of the leaves. Practically all active 
plant organisms are provided with chlorophyll, unless 
depending on food previously stored, or, in the case of 
parasites, on material gathered by other organisms. 
These chlorophyll bodies (among the plastids to which 
we have already referred in our description of the cyto- 
plasm) develop only in the presence of light, and only 
when iron is present in the cell. Their peculiar chem- 
ical properties appear to reside in the green pigment. 
Under the action of sunlight, particularly the red and 
yellow rays, chlorophyll is able to break up the mole- 
cule of carbon dioxide, retaining the carbon and giving 
off free oxygen. A small amount of carbon dioxide is 
also absorbed by the roots and carried to the chloro- 
phyll bodies. 

The other chemical elements necessary for the 
growth of the plant are absorbed in the form of water, 
either as aqueous solutions or as solids. In one-celled 
and aquatic plants the absorption takes place at the 
surface of the cell; in the higher land-plants through 
the root-hairs attached to the roots. These root-hairs 
contain acids which aid in the solution of certain 
solids. 

The carbon absorbed by the chlorophyll bodies is 
combined with oxygen and hydrogen to form the col- 
loid known as starch, which has the proportions C 6 H 10 

[ 109] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

5 , the molecule, however, being compound and ex- 
tremely bulky. A combination of this type is generally 
known as a carbohydrate. Certain ferments produced 
by the protoplasm break up the starch molecules and 
change them into one of the simpler sugars with the 
formula C 6 H 12 O e . These molecules in turn are trans- 
formed into proteids, the principal factor in proto- 
plasm, by the addition of nitrogen and sulphur, aided 
by the presence of minute quantities of potassium, mag- 
nesium and probably iron. For the nucleo-proteids 
phosphorus is necessary. Fats are also present in the 
cell, derived from starch and containing the same ele- 
ments, but in very different proportions; the process of 
formation is still a matter of debate. Various ferments 
may assist in the elaboration of these different elements. 
Carbohydrate molecules may be held in reserve as such, 
or used in the formation of fibres, gums, etc. The 
plant seed is especially rich in reserve material; even 
before germination this reserve is being slowly drawn 
on to continue the activities of the cell. 

In the higher plants the ascending sap consists of 
water holding in solution the minerals derived from 
the soil and certain sugars drawn from the reserve ma- 
terial in the cells. On reaching the leaves, carbon is 
added in the form of starch or one of its derivatives 
and the elaborated sap diffuses from cell to cell 
throughout the organism, apparently through the 
cell walls. Out of the materials thus derived each cell 
forms the necessary proteids, carbohydrates and fats. 
Surplus water is exhaled from the leaves, and this evap- 

[no] 



THE CELL 

oration, rendering the substance of the outer cells less 
fluid, causes fluid to diffuse to them from the neighbor- 
ing cells. This process of osmosis, continuing from cell 
to cell as far as the roots of the plant, represents the 
upward movement of the sap. The higher temperature 
of the leaves assists the process, chiefly by increasing 
the evaporation. The sap rises with considerable 
force. The upward movement takes place chiefly dur- 
ing the first warm months and in the daytime. Besides 
water-vapor, much oxygen is given out from the leaves, 
and small quantities of some other gases. But most 
of the material received is assimilated, and plant meta- 
bolism is thus essentially constructive. 

Animal metabolism is both constructive and destruc- 
tive. As chlorophyll or an equivalent pigment is not 
found in any animal organisms (except some of the 
flagellata), they are dependent for their supply of car- 
bon on that gathered by plants and already elaborated 
into carbohydrates, proteids and fats. For purposes of 
digestion it is necessary for the animal to break up 
these different food elements. This is accomplished 
by means of ferments, chiefly enzymes, which will be 
discussed in the next chapter. 

A one-celled organism, such as the amoeba, captures 
and then engulfs its food. Fat, starch and other mate- 
rial that cannot be utilized is ejected without change. 
Proteids are acted on by a digestive fluid resembling 
pepsin. The materials thus obtained are used for the 
growth of the cell and the repair of any of the proto- 
plasm used up in its movements or other life processes. 

[mi 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

The chief source of energy is the carbon, which is oxi- 
dized — that is, combined with oxygen — and given off 
by the cell in the form of carbon dioxide. 

The general process is the same in the higher ani- 
mals,- with their marvellous specialization of organs and 
cells. The molecules of food elements and mineral salts 
taken into the body are broken up in their passage by 
the aid of secretions furnished by various organs, glands 
and cells. The simpler molecules thus formed and held 
in solution are absorbed by the blood, through the walls 
of the alimentary canal. The blood conveys these 
molecules, together with the oxygen molecules supplied 
it by the lungs, to each cell in the body. (Water and 
salts are also furnished.) The behavior of the cell 
then resembles that of the amoeba. The cell-substance 
is repaired through the oxidation of the carbon, and the 
resulting carbon dioxide is carried back by the blood 
to the lungs, or to the pores, and exhaled. Similarly, 
other waste, chiefly water and nitrogen, is returned 
by the blood and lymph to the kidneys or the ali- 
mentary canal, whence it may be carried out of the 
body with the food material not absorbed by the 
system. 

One of the latest students of the subject states that 
"a cell cannot control the diffusion of substances into 
itself, nor can it choose from its surroundings any one 
substance and leave another. Even at the expense of its 
life, a cell is bound to absorb from its surroundings 
any substance which may be present; and this absorp- 
tion depends entirely upon certain chemical and physical 

[112] 



THE CELL 

factors."* The protoplasm of the different cells, how- 
ever, acts differently upon the substance absorbed, so 
that each cell normally receives the quantity and pro- 
portion of the various food elements necessary for its 
functions. The calcium and other elements present in 
the bony skeleton are deposited in a similar way 
through adjoining cells serving this special purpose. In 
the absence of food, the cells are able for a certain 
period to draw on their reserve material or that of cells 
especially rich in carbon. Very little oxygen is held in 
reserve. 

When life ceases in the organism, whether plant or 
animal, the molecules, if not at once used by other 
animals for food, tend to be broken up into simpler 
forms. The process is assisted by various micro-organ- 
isms. Some of these are present in different organs of 
the body; they are held in check by the cells or secre- 
tions of the living organism, but develop unchecked 
when life ceases. Of the resulting elements, the oxy- 
gen and hydrogen tend to escape in the form of gas, 
often in combination with carbon. Water is also 
formed, and some carbohydrates are found in the form 
of fluids. Most of the carbon, however, as well as the 
nitrogen, sulphur, phosphorus and mineral salts, return 
to the soil in a more or less impure state. There, with 
the exception of carbon, they are again available for 
plant food, as is the case with animal waste. 

Some reference should be made to the subject of 

organic heat, as it has important bearings on the rela- 

* H. C. Ross, Induced Cell-Reproduction and Cancer, 
1911, p. 65. 

[113] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

tion between biology and physics. No organisms are 
active except within a certain specific range of tempera- 
ture. This simply means that heat is necessary for the 
chemical changes on which life depends. Heat is 
ultimately derived from the sun. It may come to the 
organism directly, less directly through surrounding 
objects or the atmosphere, or through chemical changes 
in other organic matter. A certain amount of solar 
heat, as well as light, is necessary for the decomposition 
of carbon dioxide and the formation of new car- 
bon compounds. This heat energy, derived from the 
radiant energy of the sun's rays, has been transformed 
into chemical (electrical) energy, or is represented by 
heat energy in another form, the increased kinetic 
energy of the atoms making up the new molecule. 
When these carbon compounds are broken up and the 
carbon is again combined with oxygen, processes for 
which additional heat is necessary, the total increase of 
energy is given off. It may be given off as heat, partly 
radiated, partly used for new chemical processes. It 
may be converted into molar motion — of the cell, of 
some of its parts, or of the organism — thus supplying 
the energy necessary for the cell's life-functions or for 
its work. The process is somewhat similar to the oxi- 
dation of carbon in the fire-pot of an engine. In 
muscular work, about one-fifth of the heat generated 
is available for mechanical work, the other four-fifths 
being required to start the necessary chemical changes 
in the cells. 

A man of average weight, doing a moderate amount 

[in] 



THE CELL 

of light muscular work, requires about one hun- 
dred grams of proteids, one hundred grams of fats, and 
two hundred and forty grams of carbohydrates, or a 
total of two hundred and thirty-five grams of carbon 
per day, with a fuel value in metabolism of 2324 kilo- 
gram calories. The fuel value is measured in a calori- ^ 
meter, and is the amount of heat which would be 
radiated on the complete oxidation of the carbon avail- 
able in the food elements given. Approximately the 
same results have been obtained by measuring the radia- 
tion from the body during twenty-four hours. Hard 
muscular work must be compensated by additional 
carbon. 

Organic chemistry, from this point of view, is a 
study of carbon compounds. Carbon is the medium for 
heat exchanges, not because of the ease with which it 
is obtained — it must be separated by chlorophyll from 
the .03 per cent of C0 2 in the atmosphere — but be- 
cause of the readiness with which it combines with and 
separates from oxygen, a principal constituent of both 
atmosphere and hydrosphere. All the carbon com- 
pounds used by us as fuel have been derived ultimately 
from carbon dioxide, and the energy stored in them 
has come from the sun's rays. The quantity of heat 
given off when wood is burned is supposed to be the 
equivalent of the heat required for its formation. 
Plants and animals, through their elaboration of re- 
serve carbon material, are "storehouses of energy''. 
For the decomposition of the dead organism a certain 
amount of heat is required. A very much larger 

[115] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

amount is given off, for the most part in the form of 
radiation, as the various compound molecules are 
broken up. 

From another viewpoint, biological chemistry is the 
study of nitrogen compounds. Nitrogen forms the 
basis of the elaborate albumin molecules characteristic 
of all cells, and hence necessary for cell food in the 
form of proteids. Though a common element, making 
seventy-seven per cent of the atmosphere, nitrogen is 
very inert and * combines only with great difficulty. 
Just why it should be fundamental in protoplasm we 
do not know. One way in which the nitrogen in the 
air is rendered available for organic life is through 
electric discharges in moist air, forming ammonium 
nitrite, which is carried by rains into the soil. Nitro- 
gen is also secured directly from the atmosphere by 
certain nitrogen-gathering bacteria, which are parasitic 
to leguminous plants. 

Other bacteria, not parasitic, have been discovered in 
the soil, which in one case oxidize ammonia and in the 
other oxidize nitrites. These two classes of bacteria 
are of special interest from the fact that they are the 
only organisms thus far known which are able to utilize 
carbon dioxide directly, without the aid of chlorophyll. 
They build proteid molecules simply from inorganic 
salts. The energy necessary for this process appears 
to be supplied by the oxidation of the nitrogen. Sul- 
phur is also oxidized by some bacteria. A certain 
amount of plant energy is derived from the ultra-red 
rays of the spectrum. 

[116] 



THE CELL 

The albumins are so complex, and in many cases so 
fleeting, that analysis has been difficult. Considerable 
progress, however, has been made along this line, 
chiefly through the brilliant work of Emil Fischer of 
Berlin. Various albuminous substances have been 
broken up into derivatives of ammonia, known as 
amino-acids, and into other nitrogen compounds. After 
the composition of these derivatives had been thor- 
oughly studied, the attempt was made to put them 
together again. Fischer has succeeded in preparing 
an artificial peptide with a molecular weight of 121 3; 
natural peptides weigh between 2,000 and 3,000. Prob- 
ably in time we shall be able to build peptides into the 
more complex peptones, and these in turn into albu- 
mins proper. The latter are considered by some 
authorities to have a molecular weight as high as 
15,000. 



[ii?r 



CHAPTER VIII 

HOW FAR DOES CHEMISTRY CARRY US? 

'"ir^HE preceding story could not have been told 
-■- without frequent reference to the chemistry of 
the cell. More and more chemistry is likely to prove 
the pass-key to biological problems. In the present 
chapter I propose to carry this subject further, taking 
up a series of recent experiments, from widely differ- 
ent fields, bearing on the way in which chemical 
changes in the surrounding fluid affect the behavior of 
the cell. 

Mention has already been made of artificial mito- 
sis, fertilization and the development of centrosomes. 
The leader in such work has been Professor Jacques 
Loeb of the University of California. To refer to 
some of his later work, in 1903 he succeeded in fertiliz- 
ing the egg of a sea urchin with the sperm of a star- 
fish. It could not be done in normal sea water, but 
was possible in a number of solutions. These solutions 
prevented or made difficult the fertilization of the sea 
urchin by the sperm of its own species. In 1905 par- 
thenogenesis was induced in the sea-urchin's egg by 
increasing the osmotic pressure of the surrounding 
medium. This caused the loss of water by the egg and 
the formation of a membrane, as in fertilization. In 
1906 he proved that segmentation and development re- 

t"8] 



HOW FAR DOES CHEMISTRY CARRY US 

quire the presence of free oxygen and are primarily 
oxidative processes.* 

Loeb has also done distinguished service in the inves- 
tigation of the various tropisms, or "turnings," which 
are the basis of many of the commoner instincts. They 
might be enumerated as follows: thermotropism, or 
response to a change of temperature, considered as a 
stimulus; thigmotropism, or response to mechanical 
stimulation; chemicotropism, or response to chemical 
stimulation; geotropism, or response to the force of 
gravity; and heliotropism, positive and negative, the 
tendency of an organism to turn toward or away from 
light. These tropisms have been proved to be identical 
for plants and animals. They are undoubtedly phy- 
sico-chemical phenomena. Their exact nature is in 
most cases unknown, but the tropic tendencies of the 
organism may be modified by changes in the medium. 
For example, heliotropic reactions in fresh-water crus- 
taceans have been modified by various chemicals, 
especially C0 2 .f Tropisms depend, first, "upon the 
specific irritability of certain elements of the body- 
surface, and, second, upon the relations of symmetry of 
the body. Symmetrical elements at the surface of the 
body have the same irritability; unsymmetrical ele- 
ments have a different irritability. Those nearer the 
oral pole [toward the mouth] possess an irritability 
greater than that of those near the aboral pole. These 
circumstances force an animal to orient itself toward a 

* Univ. of Cal. Pub's in Physiology, vols. I-III. 
fOp. at. II, i ff (1904). 

[119] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

source of stimulation in such a way that symmetrical 
points on the surface of the body are stimulated 
equally. In this way the animals are led without will 
of their own either toward the source of the stimulus 
or away from it."* 

A fairly strong case has been made out for the chem- 
ical explanation of rhythmical movements. Loeb con- 
siders these to be due to the exchange of sodium or 
potassium atoms for those of calcium or magnesium, or 
vice versa. The former increase the rate of contrac- 
tion in a muscle cell; the latter diminish it. The cen- 
ter of one of the medusae, when isolated, was able to 
beat rhythmically in a pure solution of sodium chlo- 
ride. The greater the concentration of the solution, 
the more rapid the movements, within certain limits. 
Movements, however, were slowed down or inhibited 
or magnesium chloride. Again, if too many sodium 
ions enter the tissues of the center, it will lose its irrita- 
bility; this may be restored by adding a trace of cal- 
cium chloride to the solution.! "The peculiar qualities 
of each tissue are partly due to the fact that it con- 
tains ions (sodium, potassium, calcium and others) in 
definite proportions. By changing these proportions, 
we can import to a tissue properties which it does not 
ordinarily possess. If in the muscles of the skeleton 
the sodium ions be increased and the calcium ions be 
reduced, the muscles are able to contract rhythmically, 
like the heart. It is only the presence of calcium ions 

* Loeb, Comparative Physiology, 1902, p. 7. 
fid,, Dynamics of Living Matter, 1906, p. 78 ff. 

[I20] 



HOW FAR DOES CHEMISTRY CARRY US 

in the blood which prevents the muscles of our skele- 
tons from beating rhythmically in our body."* The 
part of an organ which contracts with the greatest 
frequency forces the other parts to contract in the same 
rhythm. 

We may put beside this group of experiments the 
work done recently by Carrel and Burrows at the 
Rockefeller Institute, New York, in the cultivation of 
adult tissues and organs outside of the body. Frag- 
ments of animal tissues were placed in a plasmatic 
medium taken from the same animal and kept at nor- 
mal temperature. Many of the specimens grew nor- 
mally. Glands were cultivated in the same way, and 
also kidneys, proving that adult tissues may be grown 
outside of the body as easily as many microbes. The 
following summary may be given of some of their later 
work: "It is concluded by Carrel and Burrows that the 
degree of dilution of the culture medium has a marked 
influence on the rate of growth of splenic tissue. The 
maximum acceleration was obtained in a medium com- 
posed of three volumes of normal plasma and two 
volumes of distilled water. The growth in this hypo- 
tonic plasma was very much larger than in normal 
plasma. On the contrary, the growth of the spleen 
in hypertonic plasma was always less than in normal 
plasma. In other experiments, they found that in 
diluted plasma there was also an acceleration of the 
growth of the skin, the heart, and the liver of chickens. 
The skin of adult frogs also grew more actively in 

* Physiology, p. 9. 

[121] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

this plasma. The optimum degree of dilution varied 
according to the nature of the tissues and to the species 
of the animals. While the plasma containing two- 
fifths distilled water produced the largest growth of 
splenic tissue, a slightly less diluted medium was more 
favorable for the liver and the heart, and generally 
for the skin also."* 

The third series of discoveries to which I refer are 
the microscopic studies of the living cell by Dr. Hugh 
Campbell Ross oi the Royal Southern Hospital, Liver- 
pool. Heretofore only sections of dead cells could be 
stained to bring out their various parts under the mi- 
croscope. It is by such means that material has been 
gathered for the general theory of the cell given in 
Chapter VII. Dr. Ross has discovered a method of 
staining living cells and keeping them alive for a few 
hours, so that they can be examined and photographed 
while being subjected to any conditions desired. This 
in vitro method seems likely to modify many of our 
views as to cell-structure, and revolutionize our views 
as to cell-behavior. 

Among the facts already proved by Dr. Ross is the 
chemical basis for ordinary mitosis. The division of 
the cell is not due to an inward propensity, but to the 
presence in the surrounding medium of some one of 
a group of substances, among which kreatin, xanthin 
and globin have been identified. t These chemical 

* Journal of the Am. Med. Assoc, LVI, 1513 (1911) ; see 
previous articles by the doctors themselves in the same 
journal. 

t The first two are amino-acids, their formlae being, 
respectively, C 4 H N 3 O 2 and C 5 H 4 N 4 2 . 

[122] 



HOW FAR DOES CHEMISTRY CARRY US 

agents, to which Ross has given the name "auxetics," 
"are contained in the remains of dead tissues. When a 
tissue is damaged anywhere, cell-death is occasioned, 
and the dead cells liquify. The products of this death 
have as constituents the extractives kreatin and xanthin, 
and we know that the neighboring living cells must 
absorb the liquified remains of their dead neighbors, for 
it has been shown that the diffusion of substances into 
living cells is a physical process over which the cells 
themselves can exercise no control. When a tissue is 
damaged, therefore, the direct result of that damage 
will be to make the neighboring living cells reproduce 
themselves in response to kreatin and xanthin and 
bring about the cell-proliferation of healing."* Can- 
cer is shown to be an exuberant growth caused by the 
action of "a normal auxetic plus an alkeloid of putre- 
faction and decomposition." The lack of mitosis in the 
colorless cells of the blood and lymph is undoubtedly 
due to a power which the blood possesses of restraining 
the action of globin and other auxetics contained in it. 
Reference should also be made to the series of dis- 
coveries which form the basis for the modern science of 
therapeutics, as distinguished from the empirical use of 
drugs. We have learned that when certain substances 
known as antigens — present in bacteria or other cells, 
or in fluids — enter the general circulation of an animal 
organism, they lead to the production of specific "anti- 
bodies" corresponding. That is, the particular anti- 
body, if present in some group of cells, is called out in 

* H. C. Ross, Induced Cell-Reproduction and Cancer, 1911, 
P- 320. 

[ 123 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

increased quantity by this new need. (The reaction 
of the organism takes this form, the production of the 
anti-body or of anti-body-forming cells often disturbing 
the other processes of metabolism.) The anti-body, 
whether remaining in the cell which produced it or 
passing out into the plasma, acts as a receptor for the 
antigen. It either combines with it, thus neutralizing 
its action, or combines with a third substance present 
in normal plasma to cause the dissolution of the anti- 
gen molecules, or the death of the bacteria carrying 
them. After developing such an anti-body, the animal 
is likely to be immune. Immunity may also be secured 
either by inoculating with a toxin whose virulence has 
been diminished, the organism developing the neces- 
sary anti-body gradually and safely, or by borrowing 
the antitoxin developed by another organism. The 
pioneer in this field, Ehrlich of Frankfort, after long 
experimentation, has now succeeded in manufacturing 
a drug, salvarsan, which acts as an anti-body to the 
syphilis bacillus, combining with and destroying it, 
while leaving the other tissues of the animal unaffected. 
The discovery was recently made that many, per- 
haps all, secreting tissues and organs, in addition to the 
secretions which take part in digestion, discharge into 
the blood other secretions known as "hormones." 
These reach and affect all parts of the body, causing 
other glands to secrete, and thus bringing about the 
correlation of organic processes. I understand that if 
some of the blood from the after-birth of a rabbit is 
injected into a virgin doe it will cause the secretion of 

[124] 



HOW FAR DOES CHEMISTRY CARRY US 

milk. The normal secretion of the pancreas is stimu- 
lated chiefly by a secretion from the duodenum, which 
is absorbed by the blood and carried around to the pan- 
creas through the general circulation. 

The velocity of reactions in organic chemistry is 
affected in a remarkable way by the presence of en- 
zymes, or unorganized ferments. Recent study has 
shown that there are no organized ferments. The 
yeast cell, for example, is not itself a ferment, but elab- 
orates zymase as its principal enzyme. Enzymes of 
some sort or several sorts appear to be elaborated by all 
animal and many plant cells. They are "catalysts" — 
that is, they are capable of starting or accelerating cer- 
tain chemical reactions without being themselves 
altered or becoming part of the resulting product. In 
other words, they form unstable intermediary com- 
pounds. Two substances capable of combination may 
remain side by side in solution without combining, until 
an enzyme is added which brings about a new equi- 
librium in the solution. 

The action of each enzyme is specific. It affects in a 
definite way a substance or group of substances and (in 
most cases) no others. The action is usually destruc- 
tive. Some instances of ''reverse" action are known, 
however. Thus maltase changes maltose into the sim- 
pler molecule, glucose. When applied to a very con- 
centrated solution of glucose it causes the formation of 
a substance similar to maltose. The concentration of 
the solution has increased the molecular energy, rep- 
resented by cohesion, surface tension, molecular veloc- 

[125] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

ity, or whatever force hinders chemical reaction. This 
increased molecular energy is capable of transformation 
into chemical energy on the addition of the proper 
transformer.* 

Thus far it has proved impossible to isolate enzymes, 
so that little is known of their chemical composition. 
They are colloids, and somewhat resemble the proteins, 
with which they are closely associated. They are elab- 
orated only by living cells, but, once formed, are 
laigely independent of life. The cell first produces a 
mother-ferment, which becomes active through contact 
with certain specific excitors. Up to a certain maxi- 
mum, the activity of an enzyme is, in general, propor- 
tional to its concentration. Action is inhibited by 
lowering the temperature, and the activity of the 
enzyme, when in solution, is destroyed by ioo° C or 
less; also by certain poisons. In this it resembles the 
living cell. Enzymes in a dried condition, like dried 
bacteria, can be heated considerably above the boiling 
point. Some enzymes are destroyed by sunlight, like 
bacteria. Chlorophyll and other plant plastids are not 
enzymes, though they serve much the same purpose. 
The various inorganic catalysts, such as acids, alkalies 
and mineral salts, are crystalloids. They are more 

* "A catalyst or enzyme which at one set of concentrations 
increases the velocity of a reaction in one direction must 
equally hasten it at another set of concentrations in the oppo- 
site direction. In other words, all catalytic action must be 
reversible, although in most instances the equilibrium point 
lies so near one end that the action of the enzyme on the 
velocity of reaction in one of the directions cannot be 
demonstrated experimentally." Benjamin Moore, Recent 
Advances in Physiology and Bio-Chemistry, 1905, p. 55. 

[126] 



HOW FAR DOES CHEMISTRY CARRY US 

active in some ways, because of the smaller molecule, 
and less easily destroyed. 

The cell itself, while using various catalysts, is itself 
an energy-transformer with greatly enlarged powers. 
To quote from Professor Moore: "i. The action of the 
soluble or unorganized catalyst or enzyme may consist 
(a) in commencing a reaction which does not proceed 
at all in its absence; (b) in altering the velocity of a 
reaction which does proceed in its absence, and such 
action may be positive, increasing the speed of the reac- 
tion, or negative, diminishing the speed of the reaction ; 
but (c) the direction of reaction must always be to- 
ward the point of equilibrium, because the enzyme 
does not yield energy itself, and is unable to act as a 
transformer to external energy, or to link two chemi- 
cal reactions so as to obtain energy from one for the 
performance of the other. 

"2. The living cell as an energy-transformer, in 
addition to the actions (a) and (b) of the enzyme, can 
store up chemical energy, either by using energy in 
other forms and converting it into chemical energy, or 
by linking several reactions together and transforming 
the chemical energy obtained from some back to chem- 
ical energy which is stored up in others. Finally, the 
cell can modify its activities, and alter in its action as a 
transformer, changing entirely the course of the reac- 
tions it induces and the products obtained, while the 
type of action of the enzyme is simple, selective, and 
entirely fixed. There is no doubt whatever that the 
cell makes use of the action of many intracellular en- 

[127] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

zymes for the chemical transformations it induces, but 
in all cases the action of such enzymes is adapted, con- 
trolled, and coordinated by the cell." * 

What is life? What is this something which com- 
pels us to add to the merely physical sciences the sci- 
ence of biology? Our answer must be inductive, and 
the question should first be put in the simpler, more 
concrete form: "What is organism?" Life on this 
planet, as we know it and are able to study it, is always 
organized; it has a definite physical basis. What then 
distinguishes a living organism, plant or animal, lower 
or higher, from the same aggregation of atoms before 
life is present, or after life has ceased? W T e find, in 
every case, three and probably four principal character- 
istics, which we might term the categories of biology. 

First, movement. In physical masses there is a pas- 
sive, mechanical response to external stimuli. Certain 
chemical substances will affect the atoms of a body; 
a rise of temperature will increase the velocity of its 
molecules. Decrease of pressure in the medium will 
cause the body to rise. A piece of iron, floating on a 
cork, will move toward a magnet. There is no reason 
to suppose that a dead organism would show energy- 
phenomena of a higher order. The death-test of cells 
under a microscope is the lack of "amoeba-like" move- 
ments, when stimulated by an alkali. 

The response of the living organism to the same 
stimuli is of an entirely different character. The cell, 
as we have noted, acts as an energy-transformer. Take 

* Recent Advances in Physiology, p. 50. 

[128] 



HOW FAR DOES CHEMISTRY CARRY US 

the "irritability" of the simplest organism, as shown by 
its various tropisms. The cell is stimulated by some 
chemical substance or by light. Not only is there a 
chemical or molecular response, as in the case of the 
physical mass, but the stimulus when received is trans- 
mitted through the organism (conductivity), some of 
the carbon of the cell is oxidized to convert heat energy 
into molar motion — of the cilia or other parts — and 
the cell moves in a direction determined by the charac- 
ter of the stimulus and the chemical and physical sym- 
metry of the organism. Each unicellar shows most of 
the tropisms which I have before enumerated. The 
resulting movements may not be of any special advan- 
tage,* but they constitute a response to the environ- 
ment. How far the movements of higher organisms 
are to be considered tropisms we need not discuss at 
this point. The adjustment to environment becomes 
very complex. The animal moves freely: in search of 
food, to escape enemies, to meet its mate, to lay its 
eggs, to secure a more favorable habitat. Even in 
plants which have lost the power of free movement, 
the leaves and flowers are more or less heliotropic and 
the root-hairs are constantly seeking out new sources 
of moisture. The development of each cell and of each 
organism shows a constant and active adjustment be- 
tween internal and external relations. Countless exam- 
ples of the same power could be given from the survival 
of mutations and the evolution of species and organs. 
The striking thing about the various movements of 

* See description of the Paramecium on p. 157. 

[ 129] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

this organic adjustment is that they represent the initia- 
tion of molar energy on the part of the living creature. 
The organism and its parts follow the familiar laws 
governing kinetic energy. To this extent the organism 
is like any other physical machine. But the living ma- 
chine has, to a large extent, the power of starting and 
stopping its own machinery — that is, of changing 
molecular into molar energy. It is an active (though 
not necessarily "conscious" or "voluntary") energy- 
transformer. 

In the process of metabolism, the movement of fluids 
within the organism, though largely mechanical, is also 
subject to vital control. One of the best examples is 
the diffusion through organic membranes, such as the 
air-cells of the lungs and the cellular walls of blood and 
lymph vessels. Instead of following the ordinary phys- 
ical law of osmosis, where the diffusion is from the 
region of greater to the region of less pressure, the 
cells cause carbon dioxide and other fluids to pass in a 
reverse direction and increase the molecular pressure 
of the fluid. This is brought about through a trans- 
formation of some of the energy of the cell itself. In 
the kidneys, the concentration of the urea solution is 
increased from less than four-hundredths per cent in 
the blood to two per cent in the urine. The action of 
the cell in these cases is selective and varies according 
to the nature and concentration of the solution.* The 
distribution of blood and the rate of secretion of vari- 
ous fluids are regulated by the organism as a whole or 

* Recent Advances in Physiology, 12 ff. 

[ I30] 



HOW FAR DOES CHEMISTRY CARRY US 

by certain groups of its cells. By nervous inhibitions 
the creature is able, to a limited extent, to control its 
own pumps and valves. The adjustment of organisms 
to environment is physics and something more. 

Second, metabolism, the control of the chemical 
changes necessary for life. Every cell is a minute 
chemical laboratory, breaking up bulky food molecules 
into simpler forms. Various enzymes and other cata- 
lysts are necessary for destructive metabolism. By the 
use of these catalysts, at the proper temperature, some 
of the digestive processes of the cell may be duplicated 
by us in the laboratory. But the cell not only manages 
these chemical reactions, automatically selecting the 
proper material ; it also supplies the enzymes for the 
purpose, which are found nowhere else, sometimes 
elaborating one enzyme rather than another, according 
to its needs. 

The living cell, as we have seen, also uses heat 
energy derived from some of its material, chiefly car- 
bon, to build up compound molecules of a size and 
complexity unknown to inorganic chemistry. To a 
very limited extent enzymes are able to build up more 
complex molecules, but only when the solution acted 
on is below the normal equilibrium. But a cell, to 
select one of the simplest instances, is able to absorb 
a soluble carbohydrate, oxidize part of the substance 
to yield energy, and use this energy to build up the 
remainder into molecules of fat, the new molecules 
being of very much greater bulk and possessing vastly- 
greater chemical and atomic energy than the molecules 

[131] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

of the carbohydrate.* Substantially this process is go- 
ing on in every active cell of every organism in the 
world of biology. Metabolism appears to represent 
the initiation of chemical changes. Physical and chem- 
ical laws go on unaltered. The conservation of energy 
is not affected. But organisms have the power to 
transform heat energy into chemical energy, or vice 
versa, and so perpetuate their life. 

Third, regeneration. We have seen that all plants, 
the lower animals and even the germs of higher ani- 
mals in the first cleavages of development, are toti- 
potent — that is, they are able to restore a complete 
individual like the parent. In many of these lower 
forms, as in all higher animal forms, the power of 
generating a new organism like the parent also resides 
in the germ-cells. This is simply a division of func- 
tion; fundamentally the process is the same in both 
cases. We no more understand how the larva of a 
salamander, after the lens of the eye has been removed, 
can restore a perfect lens from the posterior layer of 
the iris,f than we understand why the organism devel- 
oped from a fertilized mammalian ovum will turn 
into an almost exact reproduction of one or both par- 
ents. The mechanism of the process is entirely beyond 
our present knowledge. But all normal organisms 
have this power of regeneration, to which the physical 
world offers no analogy. 

The two facts to be noted are: First, the fact of re- 
generation — the fact that all life comes from some 

* Id., 17. 

f Wilson, The Cell, 433. 

[ 132] 



HOW FAR DOES CHEMISTRY CARRY US 

previous life and seems destined to the production of 
new life in its turn. Every cell comes from the divi- 
sion of some pre-existing cell. Second, the new life 
shows "heredity," or what Wilson aptly calls "biolog- 
ical memory." That is, in its growth into a complete 
organism it repeats the developmental process of its 
parents, and to some extent of the species and of the 
living race. Past experiences are in some way im- 
pressed upon the "germ-plasm", the continuous cell- 
substance. One of the most interesting examples of 
this is the preparation of both maternal and paternal 
germ-cells for conjugation. Normally the number of 
chromosomes is reduced one-half, in order that, when 
union of the cells takes place, there may be the typical 
number of chromosomes in the united cell. Conjuga- 
tion may not take place, but the germ cells have "re- 
membered" their proper function. 

Fourth, variation, a factor as yet little understood. 
It may be merely a failure of the organism completely 
to reproduce its ancestral life, and this failure may be 
due to the action of physical or chemical causes during 
the process of development. In that case variation 
would not strictly be a category of biology. On the 
other hand, it may be a power inherent in organism 
itself, as the recent study of discontinuous variation by 
de Vries and others appears to indicate. This power, 
however, is shown only by a certain proportion of the 
organisms in a group, the others breeding true. Are 
we to suppose that many organisms lack this power 
altogether, or that it is in some way latent in all? 

[ 133 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

Philosophy can ask a great many questions that biology 
is still unable to answer. 

We may now define life provisionally as that which, 
added to the elements known collectively as protoplasm 
and having purely physical attributes, organizes those 
elements into a machine which has the power of move- 
ment, metabolism, regeneration, and probably varia- 
tion. I mean this to be merely an empirical definition, 
which will not commit us to either mechanism or 
vitalism. 



[134] 



CHAPTER IX 

THE ORIGIN OF LIFE 

5 EAVING for the present the further study of 
-*— ' life itself, we may turn to the question of its 
source. Most writers on this subject have ignored 
the extreme complexity of even the simplest forms of 
life found on this planet. To live, in any real sense, an 
oiganism requires the assembling in appropriate quan- 
tities of at least nine chemical elements.* These must 
be built up into large molecules of peculiar composi- 
tion and structure. Further, the cell must be organ- 
ized into nuclear material, cytoplasm, centrosomes or 
their equivalent, and plastids. Since animals depend 
on plants for their supply of carbon, the earliest organ- 
isms would appear to have been plants equipped with 
chlorophyll grains for decomposing carbon dioxide. t 
No simpler forms of life have survived, or, as far as 
we can see, would have been able to carry on vital 
functions. Such complex energy-transformations re- 
quire a complex machine. It is in the light of these 

* Carbon, oxygen, hydrogen, nitrogen, sulphur, phosphorus, 
iron, potassium and magnesium; calcium is also necessary 
in many cases. 

t The nitrogen-oxidizing bacteria recently discovered can 
work without chlorophyll. Other examples may be found, 
and this might prove to have been the earliest type of organ- 
ism. But their organization is quite as complex as that of 
chlorophvll-bearing cells. 

[•35] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

facts that we must approach the question of the source 
of terrestrial life. 

Spontaneous generation has been a favorite hypothe- 
sis. But the experiments of Pasteur and Tyndall have 
proved that, on our present earth, when germs of pre- 
vious life are rigidly excluded, there is no spontaneous 
generation of life, at least "under the conditions of 
the experiment." In other words, there is no evidence 
for spontaneous generation and considerable evidence 
against it. 

The "radiobes" discovered by Burke a few years 
ago, in sterilized bouillon subject to the action of 
radium, were claimed as occupying a position between 
crystals and bacteria. They probably are to be ex- 
plained as mere coagulations; radium is known to be 
destructive of all forms of life. Enzymes, though sub- 
ject to some of the same conditions as living cells, are 
merely chemical compounds ; they cannot be considered 
as simpler forms of cells. They are not living crea- 
tures any more than are proteids or carbohydrates. 
Centrosomes, plastids, etc., have a more or less inde- 
pendent existence, but only as parts of the living cell. 

"Experimental abiogenesis," says Loeb, "is the goal 
of biology." The majority of present-day scientists are 
working on the assumption that, when we have learned 
enough about the chemistry and behavior of the cell, 
it will be possible to build up a living cell artificially in 
the laboratory. We have seen that Emil Fischer has 
gone as far as constructing a simple colloid. If Fischer 
or his son or his grandson succeeds in building peptides 

[136] 



THE ORIGIN OF LIFE 

into peptones, and peptones into albumins, and albu- 
mins into cells, it is by no means certain that the cell- 
machine so constructed would show the characteristics 
of a living organism. To this question I shall return a 
little later. My present point is that the casual assem- 
bling, even of the materials necessary for an albumin 
molecule, is almost inconceivable. Once assembled, the 
possibility of their happening to fall into the proper 
arrangement is cut off by the doctrine of chances. In 
the albumin molecule we probably have to do with 
nearly a thousand atoms. The science of stereo-chem- 
istry shows that these are arranged in definite group- 
ings, not merely mixed like grains of sand. Any one 
with a mathematical bent and unlimited blackboard 
facilities may figure out the chance of an adequate sup- 
ply of five kinds of atoms falling into the arrangement 
C 2 39H 386 N 5S S 2 78 (egg-albumin.) The physical world 
never achieves even such comparatively simple com- 
pounds as the alcohols and amines. We must conclude, 
therefore, that the first organization, on this planet, of 
inorganic material into living cells, is explicable only 
on the supposition that life was, in some sense, already 
present in the universe. 

It has been suggested that life may have reached us 
from some other planet, through the meteorites contin- 
ually falling on the earth. Doubtless certain organ- 
isms might have survived the cold of such a transit. 
But, to quote from Chamberlin and Salisbury: "There 
is nothing in known meteorites, save perhaps the exist- 
ence of hydrocarbons equally assignable to inorganic 

[137] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

sources, to indicate that they came from worlds with 
atmospheres and hydrospheres suited to maintain such 
life as the problem presents. On the contrary, there 
are the, best of grounds for believing that meteorites 
came from bodies in which the essential conditions of 
life w r ere wanting ; for, besides the absence of free oxy- 
gen and water, there is an absence of the products 
assignable to weathering and to those rock-changes 
that spring from the presence of an atmosphere and 
hydrosphere."* 

The question of the existence of life on other heav- 
enly bodies is essentially a biological one, and the best 
answer has been given by a biologist, the late Alfred 
Russell Wallace. The physical conditions necessary 
for metabolism he states as follows: "i. Regularity of 
heat-supply, resulting in a limited range of tempera- 
ture. 2. A sufficient amount of solar light and heat. 
3 Water in great abundance, and universally distrib- 
uted. 4. An atmosphere of sufficient density, and con- 
sisting of the gases which are essential for vegetable 
and animal life. These are Oxygen, Carbonic-acid gas, 
Aqueous vapor, Nitrogen, and Ammonia. These must 
all be present in suitable proportions. 5. Alternations 
of day and night. "t 

These conditions the earth appears to have fulfilled 
throughout geologic times, thus allowing the chemical 
processes of metabolism to go on as at present. No 
other planet in the solar system fulfills these conditions, 

* Geology, II, 112. 

j Man's Place in the Universe, 3d ed., 1904, p. 205. 

[138] 



THE ORIGIN OF LIFE 

according to Wallace. Only Venus has the proper 
mass to retain an atmosphere and hydrosphere. But 
Venus (as also Mercury) probably always presents the 
same face to the sun, which means a great excess of 
heat on its face and a deficiency on its back. The 
larger planets, with their low densities, probably con- 
sist of permanent gases and do not have a solid surface. 
As to Mars, the planet of strife, Wallace's statements 
must be revised in the light of recent evidence. Camp- 
bell has computed the density of the Martian atmos- 
phere at less than one-fourth that of the earth, but 
Lowell questions the methods used. The Flagstaff 
Observatory claims to have found the spectroscopic 
line of water vapor, and the snow of the polar caps is 
now considered by most scientists to be frozen water 
rather than carbonic acid. As to temperature, earlier 
estimates neglected the blanketing effect of the atmos- 
phere. Lowell computes the mean temperature as high 
as 48° F. Through most of the year intense cold un- 
doubtedly prevails in all but the equatorial regions, and 
the alternations of day and night are more severe than 
on the earth. It is recognized by all parties to the de- 
bate that the equatorial regions must be desert, except 
for possible irrigation. Scientists are not agreed as to 
whether the oblique rays of the sun would be able to 
melt the polar caps, or whether the snow, under such a 
low atmospheric pressure, would not evaporate rather 
than turn to water. It is by no means certain that the 
"canals" represent belts of vegetation bordering on 
channels through which this polar water flows. The 

[ 139] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

canals are straight and follow great circles. But even 
if the surface of Mars should prove to be perfectly 
level, it is hard to see why water should flow from the 
poles to the equator. 

As to the further step in Percival Lowell's argu- 
ment, that these canals must be artificial, the work of 
intelligent inhabitants, a scientific man should keep his 
imagination under full control. There is not the 
slightest evidence that the temperature, density, etc., 
of Mars were ever more favorable to life than they 
are at present. The planet has never had a larger mass, 
or been any nearer the sun. Taking the planet as it is 
now, and presumably always has been, the extremes of 
temperature are too great, the atmosphere too rare, and 
water too scarce for a free development of animal life 
such as we see on the earth, with constant mutation 
resulting at last in the evolution of capable engineers. 
Such an organic development on Mars is simply out 
of the question. Earthly evolution did not take place, 
and could not have taken place, on the Sahara or its 
oases. All we could expect on Mars would be 
some low vegetable forms. And plants do not build 
canals. 

As to the habitability of planets outside the solar sys- 
tem, we have no evidence that such planets exist. 
Thus far our system is unique in astronomy. Central 
suns would also be required, stable enough for a suffi- 
ciently long period to furnish light and heat for plane- 
tary life-development. We must rule out the stars in or 
near the crowded Milky Way, where the average life 

[ HO] 



THE ORIGIN OF LIFE 

of a star would be too short. Other stars must be ruled 
out as still in process of formation or rapid condensa- 
tion, others as binary or multiple systems subject to 
intense tides. "In those remaining," as Wallace puts 
it, "whether they may be reckoned by tens or by hun- 
dreds we cannot say, the chances against the same com- 
plex combination of conditions as those which we find 
on the earth occurring on any planet of any other sun 
are enormously great."* 

Wallace's argument against the habitability of any 
other heavenly body seems to me unanswerable, if we 
grant his assumption that the laws of biology are uni- 
form and that life on other planets must necessarily 
conform to the conditions of life on the earth. These 
conditions appear to be partly physical and partly chem- 
ical. Only a certain planetary mass and temperature- 
range will retain the fundamental chemical elements 
and enable them to enter freely into combination. On 
other heavenly bodies there might be organisms made 
up of other elements and subject to other conditions. 
But then that would not be protoplasm. It would be 
something else, about which we know nothing and have 
no right to frame hypotheses. Here and in other parts 
of our inductive philosophy, a confession of ignorance 
must not be mistaken for a negation. We have no 
basis for a denial of other life-plasms any more than 
we have for an affirmation. We are simply beyond our 
depth. 

Coming to solid ground again, it is clear that proto- 
plasm on this planet — the only life-plasm we know — 

* Op. at., 312. 

[hi] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

conforms to physical laws and conditions. It makes 
part of the physical universe as at present constituted. 
More and more, organic processes are coming to be rec- 
ognized, as chemical in their nature. The cell is an 
energy-transformer. It is a physical machine, and as 
such is subject to physical (physico-chemical) stimulus 
and control. The same is true, to a certain extent, of 
the complex molecules out of which the cell is 
built. Protoplasmic molecules are essentially mecha- 
nisms. The total quantity of protoplasm varies with 
the number of cell-machines; it has greatly in- 
creased during biologic history and doubtless is still 
increasing. 

We now return to the question: What is life? Of 
the current theories, only three are in any sense induc- 
tive and worthy of serious consideration. The first 
theory is that life is a form of energy, or, as one 
writer puts it, "the form of energy peculiar to living 
matter." Solar heat is transformed into electrical and 
atomic energy, and this into the "biotic" energy of the 
cell. This theory appears to me to be bad biology and 
worse physics. Life is quite distinct from kinetic en- 
ergy, whose transformations it seems able to control. 
In these transformations, the total of the five physical 
energies is always constant. This has been repeatedly 
tested in the calorimeter. The life or death of the 
organism maks no difference in the total. A generally 
level-headed scientist says, however: "It is no argument 
against the existence of a discrete form of energy that 
it is only produced from other forms of energy and 

[ 142 ] 



THE ORIGIN OF LIFE 

passes back again into other forms. In fact, it must 
be so produced and so pass back, or the balance of 
which the law of conservation is the expression would 
be upset."* This line of reasoning is like that of the 
man who pretends to transfer a coin from a cup to 
his mouth and back. We have not seen the coin mean- 
while, but he picks up the cup and sure enough there it 
it is back again ! Any of the five forms of physical 
energy may be added to or subtracted from the total, 
and so detected. Why does not biotic energy give some 
evidence of a separate existence? Life is not a form of 
energy, any more than it is a substance possessing mass 
and weight. 

A second theory, now widely current, is that life 
is merely the sum total of the physical processes 
which go on in the cell, just as oxidation, for 
instance, is the act of union between atoms of oxy- 
gen and the atoms of some other element. If there 
is no such union of atoms, there is no oxidation. 
If the organic processes cease, there is no life. It 
is certainly true in this case that there is no evi- 
dence for life. This theory commends itself at first 
by its simplicity. But it is too simple: it is a 
label for certain processes, not an explanation of 
them. It offers no clue to the origin of life on 
this planet. All organic phenomena depend on "that 
which" organizes inorganic elements into the complex 
machine known as the living cell. One such machine 
seems capable of perpetuating itself in an unlimited 

* Benjamin Moore, Recent Advances in Physiology, 6. 

[us] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

number of similar machines. But the chance aggrega- 
tion of atoms and molecules into one such machine we 
have found to be unthinkable. 

The -most hopeful prospect is afforded by a closer 
study of the living cell as an energy transformer. 
When a plant cell, by means of its chlorophyll grains, 
under the stimulus of the sun's rays, breaks up a mole- 
cule of C0 2 , rejecting one or both of the oxygen atoms 
and building the carbon atom into new combinations, 
the action of the cell resembles that of a physical force. 
That is, the cell appears able, like a force, to change 
the form and direction of physical energy. The proc- 
ess is very similar to that where the gravitation pull, 
with the help of a water wheel, transforms the energy 
of a stream into that of a mill ; or where the electric 
force, by means of a carbon or metal filament, converts 
some of the kinetic energy of the electrons into the 
radiant energy of an electric light. Life resembles a 
physical force. It is not identical with any one of the 
physical forces; in fact it controls forces as well as 
energies. 

According to the third theory, therefore, life is that 
which is able to organize inorganic material into a cell- 
machine, and, through a number of such organic ma- 
chines, of constantly increasing complexity, to exercise 
further control over physical energies and forces. Life, 
as Sir Oliver Lodge expresses it, is "a guiding and con- 
trolling entity which reacts upon our world according 
to laws so partially known that we have to say they are 
practically unknown, and therefore appear in some 

[ 144] 



THE ORIGIN OF LIFE 

respects mysterious."* Since this theory of the nature 
of life is the one suggested by the facts themselves, we 
may take it as a working hypothesis, to be confirmed or 
disproved by such further evidence as we may be able 
to glean. 

The energies and forces controlled by life, through 
the machinery of protoplasm, are those which in their 
totality make up the physical universe. Life is evi- 
dently part of the same universe, so that we must now 
use that term in a larger sense, as embracing both 
energy and life. Whatever the exact source of life on 
this planet, there is life in the universe, interwoven in 
some way with the physical. The wider universe is able 
to produce or manifest the biological phenomena with 
which we are familiar. Since spontaneous generation 
is unknown and life always comes from some previous 
life, there is a strong presumption that life exists else- 
where in the universe, under different forms. "What- 
ever life may be, it is something which can begin to 
interact with the atoms of terrestrial matter at some 
period or state of aggregation or other condition of 
elaboration, — a condition which may perhaps be rather 
definite, if only we were aware of what it was." This 
is another quotation from Lodge in his answer to 
Haeckel.t But HaeckePs monism seems to me to aim 
for this same point, though he blunders upon many 
dogmatic and foolish statements by the way. It is 
in order now to call for the question laid on the table 

* Life and Matters, 1905, p. 117. 
tW, 9X. 

[145] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

earlier in the chapter — whether an artificial cell, if we 
ever succeed in assembling one, would show the charac- 
teristics of a living cell. In other words, would it live ? 
Is life constantly passing through our world like a 
series of electric waves, ready to set in vibration 
any instrument that is tuned to receive them? We 
do not know. We can only answer: "Try it and 
see." 

The general question, how far life, as distinct from 
protoplasm, is subject to the physical categories, is too 
abstract to discuss here. On one point, however, the 
problem of the individual, we touch the concrete. In 
default of any knowledge of smaller units, we may take 
the cell as the biological unit of number. But the unit 
of life is not the cell but the individual organism. In 
some cases the two are identical. A protozoan cell, for 
example, is one unit of protoplasm ; it is also one organ- 
ism, one life. When it divides, it becomes two units of 
protoplasm and two organisms. So with the ovum and 
spermatazoon of a higher animal, which are two cells 
and two organisms, until they coalesce to form one 
cell, one organism. Every individual organism comes 
from some previous individual, just as every cell comes 
from some preexisting cell. When the fertilized egg- 
cell divides, however, we have two cells, two units of 
protoplasm, but only one organism. The two together 
form a unity, as will be described more fully at a later 
point. However much the cells may multiply by divi- 
sion, or change the material of which they are com- 
posed, the organism continues to be one. It also 

[i 4 6] 



THE ORIGIN OF LIFE 

continues apparently to be the same. It remembers, in 
a biological sense, its own previous life, as well as that 
of its ancestors. When the individual organism dies, 
it apparently ceases to be, as suddenly and completely 
as it began to be in the fertilization of the germ. This 
appearance and disappearance may conceivably be 
merely apparent. 

Many questions might be raised in this connection. 
Even in the higher organisms the individual cell main- 
tains a certain independence. After the death of the 
organism many of these cells persist for a limited time 
before dying, that is turning to water and breaking up 
into simpler elements. During this temporary persist- 
ence should the cells be termed organisms? At the 
Rockefeller Institute, Carrel and Burrows have suc- 
ceeded in taking out one of the kidneys of a dog, treat- 
ing it, and replacing it after an interval of fifty 
minutes. They have proved that a segment of artery 
can be kept in cold storage in a condition of latent life, 
and then successfully transplanted to another organism, 
perhaps of a different species.* During that fifty min- 
utes or during that cold storage process, were the kid- 
ney and the artery individual organisms? They have 
been part of an organism, and may be again, just as a 
piston-rod temporarily removed from an engine is part 
of an engine. But a specialized animal cell or tissue 
is not able to perpetuate its life for an indefinite peiod, 
either through metabolism or through reproduction. 
On the other hand, any toti-potent cell detached from 

* Journal of Experimental Medicine, March, 1910, April, 
19". r , 

[147] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

a plant may, under proper conditions, become an inde- 
pendent organism. 

Without stopping longer on these rather academic 
problems, it seems safe to conclude that, in addition to 
the category of number, and the general category of 
unity (as making part of the universe,) all normal liv- 
ing creatures are characterized by individuality, a sort 
of "dynamic unity" of the individual organism. This 
should be included with the four biological categories 
given at the close of the last chapter. 

By life, to analyze this concept in its turn, we mean 
che individual lives which are represented by the organ- 
isms on our earth, and the life or lives which may 
exist in the universe under other forms. What life is 
in itself, apart from organism, we do not know. Biol- 
ogy, as the science of organism, can never tell us. 

Does the gradual perfecting of species imply plan 
and purpose in the universe? It might imply that; 
such a view would be entirely consistent with the facts. 
On the other hand, the perfecting of species might be 
due to the normal action of organisms, especially under 
the categories of variation and regeneration. We may 
expect to learn considerably more about these factors. 
But an answer to the question of purpose is beyond 
the scope of biology today, and probably always will be. 
It is hard to see what extension of our present bio- 
logical knowledge would lift us from our position of 
agnosticism. 

What then is the contribution of biology to philoso- 
phy? The universe is not merely physical; it includes 

[i 4 8] 



THE ORIGIN OF LIFE 

the phenomena of life. And since life is able, to a cer- 
tain extent, to control physical energies and forces, 
without altering their quantities or the laws of their 
behavior, we have clear evidence that there is some 
such control of the physical side of the universe. 

The psychical sphere of phenomena may give us 
further light. The interpretation of life, like life 
itself, is inseparably connected with mind, which is its 
other phase or its accompanying factor. 



[H9] 



PART III 
THE PSYCHICAL 



CHAPTER X 



THE EVOLUTION OF MAN 

MENTAL phenomena are not, strictly speaking, 
supernatural to biology. The distinction be- 
tween life and mind is largely for convenience. No 
settled boundary line can be drawn between the biolog- 
ical and the psychological group of sciences. 

On entering the broad field of psychology, our first 
task is to complete the story of organic evolution. 
Thus far we have referred to man only incidentally. 
Four lines of evidence teach us that the human species 
has evolved from lower forms of life. 

(a) Comparative Anatomy. In anatomical struc- 
ture man belongs to the animal kingdom, to the branch 
vertebrates, to the class of placental mammals, to the 
order primates, and to the sub-order anthropoidea. 
That is, man not only resembles in structure and organs 
all vertebrate animals and especially all mammals (so 
much so that one of the best ways of studying the 
human body is by dissecting a cat or a rabbit) but he 
shows an unmistakable connection also with tfie lower 
and higher apes. 

The most important characteristics of the primates 
are the well-developed pelvis and rear limbs, enlarged 
big toes, nails instead of claws, a complete collar-bone, 
a disk-like placenta, enamelled teeth of all four kinds, 

[153] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

whose number and arrangement are almost. invariable, 
and special developments or tendencies of brain and 
skull. 

The anthropoidea are characterized by the size and 
convolution of the cerebral hemispheres and by the sin- 
gle pear-shaped womb. Of the members of this order, 
the catarrhine (narrow-nosed) apes of the Old World 
have nostrils resembling those of man, and the same 
dentition, twenty milk teeth and thirty-two permanent 
teeth. The New World apes show slight differences. 

Man appears to be descended from some extinct 
member of the catarrhine branch. The living forms of 
the latter are divided into tailed and tailless apes. The 
tailless apes of the present day, such as the orang- 
outang of Asia and the gorilla and chimpanzee of 
Africa, resemble man in minor points of structure, in 
size, in brain-development, and in the tendency to walk 
erect. It is hard to say which of the apes mentioned 
is nearest to man. Each shows special points of resem- 
blance. The structural and organic differences be- 
tween man and what we might term the composite 
tailless ape are slight, aside from features which are 
apparently connected with higher brain development. 
Huxley's statement has never been seriously disputed: 
"The structural differences which separate Man from 
the Gorilla and the Chimpanzee are not so great as 
those which separate the Gorilla from the lower 
apes."* 

(b) Embryology. The human embryo, as it de- 

* T. H. Huxley, Place of Man in Nature, 1863, American 
ed. p. 123. 

[154] 



THE EVOLUTION OF MAN 

velops from a single cell about 1/125 of an inch in 
diameter into the complex organism which we see in 
the babe, repeats, like other animals, some of the em- 
bryonic history of its ancestors. It first appears in a 
form resembling the protozoan amoeba. This, by re- 
peated subdivision, becomes in turn a "mulberry," a 
single cell-wall enclosing a fluid, and a gastrula or 
two-layered stomach-pouch much like the hydra. All 
metazoa pass through these stages, and while doing so 
are practically indistinguishable from each other. The 
human embryo from now on might properly be classed, 
at successive stages, with the embryonic or typical 
forrris of the vermes, the tunicates, the primitive verte- 
brates such as the amphioxus, the primitive fish forms, 
the amphibians, the primitive or typical mammals, the 
tailed catarrhine apes and the tailless catarrhines. The 
evidence should be studied in the laboratory. In its 
details the recapitulation is abbreviated and foreshort- 
ened; the evolutionary history is often obscured by 
features due to the adaptation of the foetus to the con- 
ditions of its own embryonic development. But the 
main outlines are unmistakable, even to the develop- 
ment of some useless features, such as hair-coat and 
tail, which must be eliminated before birth. 

(c) Rudimentary Organs. Survivals are found in 
man, as in all higher animals. Examples are the vermi- 
form appendix, of positive harm to man but useful to 
many herbiverous animals, where it is of large size; 
muscles for twitching various parts of the skin, still 
used by man for drawing up the eyebrows, but rudi- 

[155] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

mentary in other parts of the body, except with certain 
individuals; similar muscles for twitching the external 
ear; a small blunt point on the edge of the ear- fold 
which represents the point of a primitive pointed ear; 
from three to five bones of a rudimentary tail, and 
occasionally rudimentary muscles for moving it; the 
grasping power of a new-born babe and the angle at 
which the soles are set, resembling characteristics of the 
arboreal apes; the semi-lunar fold of a third eyelid, 
found in use among many animals, even some mam- 
mals; the hair on the body, which is no longer of any 
value to man, and the direction of the hairs toward the 
elbow on both the upper and lower arm, an arrange- 
ment found only in the higher apes and a few American 
monkeys. The list of rudiments might be greatly ex- 
tended, especially if we included abnormal human fea- 
tures, which are generally reversions to ancestral types. 

(d) Comparative Psychology. It is often thought 
that there is a break between the mental development 
of man and that of the higher animals. This is true 
only in the same sense that there is a break between 
the development of an adult and that of a child. 

In the first place, man is a true anthropoidea in 
brain and nervous system, as in the other points of his 
anatomy. The resemblance extends even to convo- 
lutions and fissures, and to the localization of function. 
Our knowledge of the human nervous system has been 
gained largely through experiments on monkeys. Man 
is simply the culmination of a long evolution, which 
begins with the protozoan cell, sensitive as a whole to 

[156] 



THE EVOLUTION OF MAN 

external stimuli, passes through the rudimentary ner- 
vous systems of invertebrates, already in many cases 
showing specialization into sensory and motor centers, 
and finally reaches the segmented nervous system 
characteristic of all vertebrates. 

In the second place, the psychological evolution cor- 
responds with that of the nervous system, and man 
is a true anthropoidea in his mental processes, as far as 
a comparison is possible. This subject has already been 
touched on in a crude way in our first chapter.* The 
best recent work has been along the line of a more care- 
ful observation of the behavior of animals. Earlier 
students, like Romanes, relied largely on random anec- 
dotes, and even in their interpretations of these they 
were often led into anthropomorphism. 

Special reference should be made to the comparative 
psychology of lower forms of life, a subject on which 
there has been a good deal of careless observation and 
less reasoning. Some writers have attributed to micro- 
organisms a mental life that is astonishingly advanced 
— almost human. But Professor H. S. Jennings has 
made a very thorough study of the behavior of one of 
the common infusoria, the Paramecium, and finds no 
actions that cannot be classed as merely organic. The 
taking of food is automatic, being due to the water 
currents set up by the cilia. There is no selection of 
food material by the organisms. They are repelled by 
alkalies, cold, or great heat, and attracted by certain 
acids, especially by carbon dioxide. Since the parame- 

* See p. 13 ff. 

[157] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

cia, like all animals, excrete CO2, which finds its way 
into the water, the more paramecia massed together 
the more C0 2 and the more attraction. This is 
undoubtedly the explanation of the so-called social phe- 
nomena of these animals. They do not profit by expe- 
rience. There is no choice in the matter of their own 
movements. For all classes of stimuli, they first re- 
verse the cilia and swim backward, then turn and swim 
forward. The turning is always toward the side oppo- 
site the mouth opening.* 

Probably the psychological development of the Para- 
mecium would be typical of the entire plant kingdom 
and of all animals until the rise of a simple nervous 
system. The only psychic life is that represented by the 
processes which I have given as characteristic of all 
organisms.! The value of nerves, as Professor Loeb 
says, "lies in the fact that they are quicker and more 
sensitive conductors than undifferentiated protoplasm. 
Because of these qualities of the nerves, an animal is 
better able to adapt itself to changing conditions than 
it possibly could do if it had no nerves. Such power of 
adaptation is absolutely necessary for free animals."^: 

For the higher stages of psychic evolution I may 
quote Professor Thorndike's summary of his own 
studies. "Experiments have been made on fishes, rep- 
tiles, birds and various mammals, notably dogs, cats, 
mice and monkeys, to see how they learned to do cer- 

* Psychology of a Protozoan, in American Journal of Psy- 
chology, X, 503 (1899). 
t See ante, pp. 128 ff, and the discussion of tropisms, p. 

"9- 

X Comparative Physiology of the Brain, 5. 

[158] 



THE EVOLUTION OF MAN 

tain simple things in order to get food. All these 
animals manifest fundamentally the same sort of intel- 
lectual life. Their learning is after the same general 
type. What that type is can be seen best from a con- 
crete instance. A monkey was kept in a large cage. 
Into the cage was put a box, the door of which was 
held closed by a wire fastened to a nail which was 
inserted in a hole in the top of the box. If the nail 
was pulled up out of the hole, the door could be pulled 
open. In this box was a piece of banana. The mon- 
key, attracted by the new object, came down from the 
top of the cage and fussed over the box. He pulled 
at the wire, at the door, and at the bars in the. front 
of the box. He pushed the box about and tipped it up 
and down. He played with the nail and finally pulled 
it out. When he happened to pull the door again, of 
course it opened. He reached in and got the food 
inside. It had taken him 36 minutes to get in. Another 
piece of food being put in and the door closed, the 
occurrences of the first trial were repeated, but there 
was less of the profitless pulling and tipping. He got 
in this time in 2 minutes and 20 seconds. With re- 
peated trials the animal finally came to drop entirely 
the profitless acts and to take the nail out and open 
the door as soon as the box was put in the cage. He 
had, we should say, learned to get in. 

"The process involved in the learning was evidently 
a process of selection. The animal is confronted by a 
state of affairs or, as we may call it, a 'situation.' He 
reacts in the way that he is moved by his innate nature 

[159] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

or previous training to do, by a number of acts. These 
acts include the particular act that is appropriate and 
he succeeds. In later trials the impulse to this one act 
is more and more stamped in, this one act is more and 
more associated with that situation, is selected from 
amongst the others by reason of the pleasure it brings 
the animal. The profitless acts are stamped out; the 
impulses to perform them in that situation are weak- 
ened by reason of the positive discomfort or the absence 
of pleasure resulting from them. So the animal finally 
performs in that situation only the fitting act. 

"Here we have the simplest and at the same time 
the most widespread sort of intellect or learning in the 
world. There is no reasoning, no process of inference 
or comparison; there is no thinking about things, no 
putting two and two together; there are no ideas — the 
animal does not think of the box of the food or of the 
act he is to perform. He simply comes after the learn- 
ing to feel like doing a certain thing under certain 
circumstances which before the learning he did not 
feel like doing. Human beings are accustomed to think 
of intellect as the power of having and controlling 
ideas and of ability to learn as synonymous with abili- 
ity to have ideas. But learning by having ideas is 
really one of the rare and isolated events in nature. 
There may be a few scattered ideas possessed by the 
higher animals, but the common form of intelligence 
with them, their habitual method of learning, is not 
by the acquisition of ideas, but by the selection of 
impulses. 

[160] 



THE EVOLUTION OF MAN 

"Indeed this same type of learning is found in man. 
When we learn to drive a golf ball or play tennis or 
billiards, when we learn to tell the price of tea by tast- 
ing it or to strike a certain note exactly with the voice, 
we do not learn in the main by virtue of any ideas that 
are explained to us, by any inferences that we reason 
out. We learn by the gradual selection of the appro- 
priate act or judgment, by its association with the cir- 
cumstances or situation requiring it, in just the way 
that the animals do. 

"From the lowest animals of which we can affirm 
intelligence up to man this type of intellect is found. 
With it there are in the mammals obscure traces of the 
ideas which come in the mental life of man to outweigh 
and hide it. But it is the basal fact. As we follow the 
development of animals in time, we find the capacity 
to select impulses growing. We find the associations 
thus made between situation and act growing in num- 
ber, being formed more quickly, lasting longer and 
becoming more complex and more delicate. The fish 
can learn to go to certain places, to take certain paths, 
to bite at certain things and refuse others, but not 
much more. It is an arduous proceeding for him to 
learn to get out of a small pen by swimming up 
through a hole in a screen. The monkey can learn to 
do all sorts of things. It is a comparatively short and 
easy task for him to learn to get into a box by unhook- 
ing a hook, pushing a bar around and pulling out a 
plug. He learns quickly to climb down to a certain 
place when he sees a letter T on a card and to stay 

[161] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

still when he sees a K. He performs the proper acts 
nearly as well after 50 days as he did when they were 
fresh in his mind. This growth in the number, speed 
of formation, permanence, delicacy and complexity of 
associations possible for an animal reaches its acme in 
the case of man."* 

Some further discussion of these subjects will be 
given later. The present chapter is intended to be 
largely in the nature of a summary. 

What really distinguishes man from his cousins of 
the higher anthropoidea? Physiologically the differ- 
ences are slight. Every bone and organ could be dis- 
tinguished from the corresponding bone or organ of a 
gorilla, but the same is true of a gorilla as compared 
with a chimpanzee. The individuals of a species are 
specifically different in practically all details from the 
individuals of every other species. 

The distinguishing differences between man and the 
higher apes may be enumerated as follows: (a) An 
immense increase in intelligence. Among the most 
striking manifestations of this are the power of acquir- 
ing language, and the power of using tools, fire and 
clothes, (b) Increased size of the brain. In a healthy 
human adult the brain never weighs less than thirty- 
one or thirty-two ounces, the average is about forty- 
eight among males and sixty is often reached. The 
gorilla brain never weighs more than twenty ounces, 
although the total weight of the gorilla is very much 

* Edward L. Thorndike, Pop. Science Monthly, Nov., 1901 ; 
reprinted in Animal Intelligence, p. 282 ff. 

[162] 



THE EVOLUTION OF MAN 

greater than that of man. "An average European 
child of four years old has a brain twice as large as 
that of an adult gorilla." The increase is chiefly in 
the cerebral hemispheres, which also show greater num- 
ber and irregularity of convolutions. It should be 
stated, however, that there is no direct connection be- 
tween brain- weight and mental capacity.* (c) A pro- 
longed period of helpless infancy in the human species, 
(d) Man stands and walks erect, with flat soles and 
the legs longer than the arms, (e) Increased control 
of the voice, which makes possible the articulate speech 
so characteristic of the species. This power may be 
connected with the upright head, (f) Man is com- 
paratively hairless. 

It is not easy to determine the relation between these 
factors. In the present state of our knowledge, we 
must consider the various physical factors — brain- 
weight, upright stature, power of speech, and absence 
oi hair — not as characteristics acquired and transmit- 
ted, but as a series of mutations. We have analogies 
from zoology to show that such mutations (each of 
them involving several physical factors) must have 
occurred at irregular intervals, along with countless 
other mutations that have not survived. 

Of the factors named, only the power of speech 

would appear to be at all fundamental. Whether this 

was primary and the increased intelligence secondary 

or vice versa, is at present a matter of mere speculation. 

The origin of human intelligence is only another side 

* Cf. William H. Thomson, Brain and Perstnality, New 
York, 1908, p. 49 ff. 

[163] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

of the problem of increased intelligence in other species. 
In the later stages of evolution, wits proved them- 
selves of more value than strength. A specialization of 
wits once started, each mutation that was of any possi- 
ble service along this line would at once gain a foothold 
and tend to become permanent. With a more complex 
nervous system, a prolongation of infancy became nec- 
essary. This in its turn reacted in various ways — 
physical, mental and social — but Fiske was probably 
mistaken in making it a primary factor. 

The social instinct has undoubtedly been a powerful 
factor in animal evolution. Cooperating animals were 
able to secure a better food supply and better pro- 
tection. Association developed intelligence in the indi- 
viduals. Among the higher animals, the most 
intelligent are those especially social, such as the ants, 
parrots, and monkeys; the only striking exception is 
the carnivora. The higher apes are exceedingly grega- 
rious. They hunt and fight together, communicating 
by rude sounds. They have begun to acquire such 
habits as using sticks and stones and building shelters. 

Probably Professor Giddings does not overstate the 
fact when he says that "association, more extended, 
more intimate, more varied in its phases, than the asso- 
ciation practised by inferior species, was the chief cause 
of the mental and moral development, and of the ana- 
tomical modifications that transformed a sub-human 
species into man."* The expenditure of surplus energy 
in play has been carried farthest among the primates. 

* Franklin H. Giddings, Principles of Sociology, 1896, p. 

[ 164] 



THE EVOLUTION OF MAN 

Among even the most primitive men play has become 
organized in festivities and games. "The development 
of association in intimacy, and above all, the develop- 
ment of festivity, converted the elementary language 
of animals into speech, which was thenceforward the 
foundation of human progress." 

Let us glance next at the question of the antiquity 
of the human species. The fullest evidence is that 
from Europe, where recent years have seen a great 
advance in both the material and the methods of pre- 
historic anthropology. It is now customary to divide 
the Stone Age into the Eolithic, the Paleolithic, and the 
Neolithic Periods. 

Let us consider these periods in reverse order. The 
Neolithic may be defined as that section of the Stone 
Age which overlaps the present geological period. Cli- 
mate, fauna and flora were practically what we know 
today, and the surface of the earth up to the Arctic 
Circle was open to man's habitation. Greater skill is 
shown in the shaping of tools and weapons, which are 
frequently polished. Arrowheads indicate the general 
use of the bow and arrow. Pottery and weaving are 
known; also agriculture and the domestication of ani- 
mals. The Neolithic Period is of comparatively short 
duration. In Switzerland, for example, it covers ap- 
proximately from 5,000 B. C. to 1,500 B. C, when 
the Bronze Age reaches the Alps.* 

The Paleolithic Period is considered by recent writers 

* Cf. G. G. MacCurdy, Recent Discoveries Bearing on the 
Antiquity of Man in Europe, Smithsonian Report, 1909, 
p. 546. 

[165] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

as co-extensive with the middle and upper levels of the 
Pleistocene (Quarternary). Arctic conditions pre- 
vailed in Europe, alternating with periods of less severe 
climate. Men were present in this epoch,, spreading 
northward after each withdrawal of the ice and leav- 
ing evidence of their culture in caves and valley de- 
posits. (The current sub-divisions of the Paleolithic 
cannot be discussed here.) They were contemporaries 
of extinct or migrated animals, such as the bison, cave- 
bear, mammoth, reindeer and rhinoceros. Fire was 
known. Pieces of flint were chipped into tools and 
weapons, and others were ground from bone or horn. 
Skins were rudely stitched together for clothing. The 
art-work of Paleolithic man, as found in cave dwell- 
ings, especially in Spain and Southern France, is one of 
the wonders of History. Some of the sculpture is 
promising, and the drawing shows an observation, a 
sense of form and a freedom of execution that would 
have been creditable in any age. 

The Eolithic Period (if such exists) covers geolog- 
ically the lower Pleistocene, the Pliocene and the upper 
Miocene. The evidence is still in dispute. The ques- 
tion hinges almost wholly on the question of whether 
the chipped flints found in these levels are human man- 
ufactures or whether they are due to natural causes. 
I am inclined to feel that the supporters of the Eolithic 
theory are making good. Such a period seems to be 
demanded by the relatively high culture of the lowest 
Paleolithic levels. The natives of Tasmania are shown 
to have been on what is practically an Eolithic stage. 

[166] 



THE EVOLUTION OF MAN 

And Verworn has given figures to show that the chip- 
ping of the flints follows a definite purpose in too large 
a proportion of cases to be the result of accident.* 

With the present uncertainty as to the duration of 
the geological periods, any figures given for the anti- 
quity of man must be largely guesswork. If we accept 
Dana's estimate of 3,000,000 years for the Cenozoic 
Era, and make the arbitrary assumption that it is sub- 
divided into five equal periods, of 600,000 years each,f 
the Paleolithic Age, covering about two-thirds of the 
Pleistocene, begins 400,000 years ago. An Eolithic 
Age, covering the upper third of the Miocene, would 
carry the antiquity of man back to 1,400,000 years. 

There is the same uncertainty as to the period when 
we should look for the series of mutations resulting 
in the human species. During the Pleiocene, Northern 
Europe was still covered by water and Central Europe 
was becoming too cold for the primates. During most 
of the time from the Eocene to the Miocene Period, 
the slowly-evolving anthropoidean hordes might have 
had for their range a tropical or semi-tropical belt 
stretching across Europe and Asia from England to 

* Zeitschrift fur Etknologie, XL, 548 (1908). See also 
summaries by MacCurdy, American Anthropologist, new 
series, vol. 7, p. 425 (1905), and Proceedings of Am. Assoc, 
for Advancement of Science, vol. 56 (1907). Recent discov- 
eries are reported from Boucelle, Belgium, in Oligocene 
deposits. The correctness of this identification, it seems to 
me, is extremely improbable and cannot be accepted without 
further evidence ; no trace of the anthropoidea has yet been 
found before the Miocene. 

t Eocene ; Oligocene ; Miocene ; Pleiocene ; Plestocene, in- 
cluding Present. 

[167] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

Java, and sometimes including parts of Africa north 
of the Sahara. It is to this region that we should look 
for possible links between man and lower forms. Only 
three links have thus far been discovered. The first 
is the pithecanthropos erectus ("erect ape-man,") dis- 
covered by Dubois in Java in 1890 in Pleiocene (Volz 
and other authorities say Pleistocene) deposits. The 
brain is about two-thirds as large as that of the average 
man. This species resembles man more closely than 
the apes, though it is probably not directly in the line 
of human ancestry. The second is the transitional 
skull from Piltdown, Sussex (1912, probably Pleisto- 
cene.) The other is the jaw discovered in the Mauer 
sands near Heidelberg, which seems more nearly in the 
human line. No human remains from the Eolithic 
Period have yet been found. The famous Neanderthal 
skull, discovered near Diisseldorf in 1856, comes from 
the Paleolithic period. Many other skulls and skele- 
tons are now known from this age. The earlier of 
these differ considerably from European skulls of the 
present day, giving us in fact a distinct type, the homo 
primtgenius. 

Although man constitutes one Linnaean species, there 
appears to have been constant mutation in his case as 
in that of other animals, producing many elementary 
species which have crossed and recrossed. The princi- 
pal physical variations have been in relative breadth 
of skull, facial angle, cranial capacity, stature, compar- 
ative length of arms and legs, shape of nose, color of 
skin and of eyes, and color and texture of hair. All 

[168] 



THE EVOLUTION OF MAN 

these points appear to be mutationary rather than ac- 
quired, except that stature and other elements of size 
are liable to increase with better nourishment. 

Let us take Europe as an example. Scientists now 
distinguish three races, which overlap (because they 
long antedate) the present political and linguistic 
boundaries. These are the Teutonic, which is charac- 
terized by long heads, long faces, *very light hair, blue 
eyes, tall stature, and narrow aquiline noses; the 
Alpine (Celtic), with round heads, broad faces, light 
chestnut hair, hazel-gray eyes, medium stocky stature, 
and variable, rather broad, heavy noses; and the Med- 
iterraneanj with long heads, long faces, dark brown or 
black hair, dark eyes, medium, slender stature, and 
rather broad noses. Prehistoric and historic skulls bear 
out the testimony given by the measurements of 25,- 
000,000 soldiers and school children. 

Anthropologists are fairly well agreed as to the his- 
tory of these three races. The earliest people of Eu- 
rope were extremely long-headed and were probably 
related to the African negroes. They are best repre- 
sented today by the Mediterranean race. The Teu- 
tonic race appears to be merely a variation of this, its 
blondness, etc., having been acquired in the compara- 
tive isolation of the Scandinavian peninsula. Toward 
the close of the Stone Age, Europe was invaded by a 
broad-headed race of decidedly Asiatic affinities. They 
came by infiltration rather than by conquest. After 
overspreading most of Europe, this Alpine race was 
obliged in many places to recede. It is found most 

[169] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

purely today in the mountain ranges. No direct con- 
nection can be established between race and culture.* 

In mental capacity, educability and potential devel- 
opment of the brain there appears to be no real differ- 
ence between the long-head and the round-head, or 
between savage and civilized man. As an example of 
this I cite the case of the Australian aborigines, gener- 
ally acknowledged to be the lowest of existing savages 
(of those at least which show no signs of degenera- 
tion. ) It has now been shown beyond dispute that this 
backwardness is due K to lack of opportunity merely and 
not to lack of capacity. The following are among the 
instances cited by the Hon. J. Mildred Creed in an 
article in the Nineteenth Century :f 

"A pure-blooded aboriginal was brought to New 
South Wales from Northern Queensland when a 
young boy,, and was employed about a homestead in 
the country, going messages, making purchases at the 
stores in the neighboring town, in the care of the 
horses, milking cows, etc., and from time to time in 
assisting his master, who was a very good amateur 
blacksmith, at the forge. His employer assured me 
that he was in all mechanical work a most efficient 
assistant, showing much more thought and brightness 
than the average white boy, often making useful prac- 
tical suggestions as to the best way of completing the 
task in hand." 

"Another remarkable instance is that of a youth who, 

* In connection with this and the preceding paragraph, see 
Wm. Z. Riplev, Races of Europe, 1899, and references. 
tVII, 89 (1905). 

[170] 



THE EVOLUTION OF MAN 

when an infant of a few days, was rescued by Mr. 
Grant, a Scotch gentleman, a naturalist, from impend- 
ing death, consequent on the killing of his mother in 
tribal hostilities in the Bellender Ker Ranges, on the 
northeast coast of Australia. He is now eighteen years 
old, having been brought up as their own child by his 
adopted parents in the neighborhood of Sydney, New 
South Wales. He speaks at will in pure grammatical 
English or in the broadest Doric Scotch, generally, 
however, only using the latter when exercising his very 
keen sense of humour in astonishing the Scotch officers 
and engineers of ships with whom he is brought in 
contact by his employment. He was near, if not at the 
head of the highest class in a large public school of some 
two hundred and fifty boys, on leaving which he has 
been employed in very large shipbuilding and engineer- 
ing works in the draughting-room. He sketches with 
considerable taste and skill, and makes tracings of 
machinery, etc. He is learning 'the pipes' on a chanter, 
and, as far as I am capable of judging, plays Scotch 
music with considerable skill and much taste, beating 
time with his foot in true Highland style. He thor- 
oughly enjoys the fun when puzzled Scots quietly ask 
his senior officers, 'where did ye get the black Scotch- 
man?' The chief draughtsman under whom he is em- 
ployed, tells me he fully holds his own with white boys 
of his age who have had the same opportunities." 

"One instance within my personal knowledge is that 
of an aboriginal housemaid in Sydney who is employed 
at a private hospital. She does all her work thor- 

[171] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

oughly, can always be trusted to perform each duty on 
its allotted day, not missing corners or scamping in any 
way. She gets ready the patients' meal-trays in a taste- 
ful manner without special supervision, and on occasion 
can properly cook a plain dinner of joint and vegeta- 
bles, with a simple pudding, as directed. She is a great 
mimic, and has a keen sense of fun, but is exceedingly 
sensitive to any rudeness or slight, especially one relat- 
ing to her race or colour, which is very black. She has 
been many years with the family in which she is em- 
ployed, and attends Church and Sunday-school with 
enthusiastic regularity." 

"A very general belief exists that the race is unable 
to count beyond the first few numerals, and this was 
possibly correct when they were untaught by associa- 
tion with a superior race. I submit, however, that it 
is only true so far as it relates to power of expression ; 
they, in their wild state, having no need of exact higher 
numbers, had no words to indicate them, but now that 
the want is supplied by English numerals they are as 
well able to enumerate as the whites. It is no unusual 
thing for an aboriginal to count sheep running through 
a gateway with the strictest accuracy. This is no slight 
test, as will be acknowledged when it is pointed out 
that in Australia it is a very small flock which contains 
less than a thousand, and that ten thousand is not 
unusual." 

Mr. Creed's entire article should be consulted, espe- 
cially his discussion of the sexual factor as explaining 
the cases of relapse of aboriginals to barbarism. In 

[172] 



THE EVOLUTION OF MAN 

conclusion he cites two classical facts from earlier 
writers. "A. shepherd, Adams, has taken to wife a 
native woman, who had been brought up at some set- 
tler's station and was partially educated. Adams could 
not read, and the black wife taught the white husband 
to read."* 

"The inspection of the aboriginal school at Ramah- 
yuck, in Gippsland, during the last eleven years gives 
a percentage of results higher than the other State 
schools in Victoria; and while no doubt this excellence 
is largely due to the skill and zeal of the gentlemen 
who taught them, it fairly shows that aboriginal chil- 
dren are at least equal to others in power of learning 
those branches of education which are taught in the 
State schools of Victoria. On several occasions of ex- 
amination by a Government inspector the percentage of 
the Ramahyuck School was a hundred, a result unpar- 
alleled by any other school in the colony."t 

The latter part of this chapter may be summarized 
as follows: The continued evolution of the human 
species, so far as it was physical, has been confined to 
points that are of no particular advantage. Probably 
there has been some degeneration, as in eyes and 
teeth. Mentally, there has always been considerable 
difference both in individual capacity and in tempera- 

* Hale, Aborigines of Australia. 

t James Dawson, Australian Aborigines, 1881. Cf., for the 
Maoris of New Zealand, the Report of the Registrar-general, 
as summarized in Nature, XL, 634 (1889). Similar evidence 
could be drawn indefinitely from the records of government 
and mission schools in various parts of the world. 

[173] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

ment, as in all higher animals. To some extent these 
differences may be inherited. But the psychological 
mean of the human species has remained practically 
the same. Whatever the shape of our skull, color of 
our skin or cross-section of our hair, we start at birth 
where our human ancestors have started for countless 
ages. 



[174] 



CHAPTER XI 

THE CENTRAL NERVOUS SYSTEM 

WE now pass to a more detailed study of the 
human nervous system and its functions, with 
such further references to comparative anatomy as may 
be necessary. The reader is reminded that in this and 
the following chapter we are dealing almost exclusively 
with physiology — with the activities of a physical ma- 
chine. In Chapter XIII we shall return to psychology, 
the study of the mental product or accompaniment of 
that machine. 

It will be well at the start to review briefly the 
principal parts of the vertebrate nervous system. In 
the embryo a central groove or canal appears, parts of 
the front end growing rapidly and forming the three 
primary brain cavities. These in turn form the five 
regions of the adult brain. The first cavity gives rise 
to the two cerebral hemispheres, united by bridges and 
ending in the olfactory lobes, which connect by special 
(sensory) nerves with the nostrils. From this cavity 
also come the ganglia known as the optic thalami, con- 
necting with the eyes by optic (sensory) nerves, which 
cross and interlace. The second cavity becomes the 
corpora quadrigemina (optic lobes) and some minor 
parts; from this region pass two other sets of (motor) 
nerves, connecting with eye-muscles. The third cavity 

[175] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 




Development of the Vertebrate Nervous System* 
Human embryo. His. Showing the peripheral nerves, 



*From The Structure and Functions of the Brain and 
Spinal Cord. Charles Griffin & Co., L't'd, London. (1892.) 

[176] 



THE CENTRAL NERVOUS SYSTEM 

gives rise to the cerebellum, or little brain, and to the 
medulla oblongata, or extension of the spinal cord, 
from which pass six other pairs of cranial nerves, 
partly sensory and partly motor, reaching the remain- 
ing eye-muscles, the jaws, the ears, the skin and the 
body organs. 

The rest of the primitive canal forms the spinal cord, 
which, like the brain, is bilateral and composed of both 
gray and white matter. The spinal cord gives rise to 
a number of pairs of nerves, usually reckoned in man 
as thirty-one, serving the limbs and other body parts 
(eight for the neck and arms, twelve for the thorax, 
five for the region of the loins, five for the legs and 
one for a tail). Each nerve has both a sensory and a 



Development of the Vertebrate Nervous System 

III to XII = The cranial' nerves in order from the third 
to the twelfth. 
Cb = Developing cerebral hemispheres. 
m = Mid brain. 
4 = Fourth ventricle. 

b = Commencement of bulb, or medulla oblon- 
gata. 
C(ito 8) = The cervical nerves and ganglia. on their 

posterior roots. 
D(i to 12) = The dorsal nerves and ganglia on their 

posterior roots. 
L(ito 5) = The lumbar nerves and ganglia on their 

posterior roots, 
^(i to 5) = The sacral nerves and ganglia on their 
posterior roots. 
Co ( 1 to 2) = The coccygeal nerves and ganglia on their 
posterior roots. 
Ht = Ventricle of heart. 
i = Intestine. 
is = Sciatic nerve cut at its origin. 

[177] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

motor root. In general, the cerebro-spinal nerves 
cross, those on the right side serving the left side of the 
body, and vice versa. 

What are the functions of these various parts of the 
central nervous system? The spinal cord may be con- 
sidered as an unspecialized or less specialized region of 
the original nervous canal. It continues to be a some- 
what independent center of activity. Suppose one-half 
of the cord is cut. There ensues, for the region af- 
fected, paralysis of voluntary motion on the side of the 
body where the cut is made, and paralysis of perceived 
sensation on the opposite side of the body. This simply 
means that communication is cut off between these 
parts of the body and the brain centers governing voli- 
tion and perception. The motor and sensory roots of 
each nerve serve opposite sides, explaining the cross 
effect. This lesion of the cord, however, does not 
seriously affect reflex action in the parts of the body 
apparently paralyzed. The cord may be completely 
severed, and still reflex action goes on in the region 
below. If the sole of a paralyzed leg is tickled, a 
stimulus is carried by the proper sensory nerve to a 
certain center in the cord; this transmits the stimulus 
tc certain motor nerves controlling the muscles, and 
the leg is thrown into active movement, of which 
the person has no sensation and which he is absolutely 
unable to control. 

Passing to the medulla oblongata, we see the same 
general phenomena as in the spinal cord, of which it is 
the extension. Like the cord, it is both a path of com- 

[178] 



THE CENTRAL NERVOUS SYSTEM 

munication from the higher centers to the rest of the 
body and an independent center, mechanically con- 
trolling nervous processes which are essential to life. 
In the medulla originate most of the nerves to and from 
the sense and body organs. A babe born without any 
brain parts above the medulla will suck and swallow 
as well as does the perfectly-developed child. In both 
cases the introduction of the nipple stimulates certain 
nerves and the stimulus is transmitted to the proper 
centers in the medulla and thence distributed to the 
motor nerves governing the complex operations of suck- 
ing and swallowing. Similarly, normal action of the 
lungs and heart may go on as long as the medulla 
oblongata is intact. 

We take up next the regions of the cerebellum, optic 
thalami and optic lobes. A frog deprived of its cere- 
bral hemispheres is able to maintain its equilibrium and 
resists all attempts to disturb it. "If its foot is pinched, 
it will hop away. If it is thrown into the water, it 
will swim until it reaches the side of the vessel, and 
then clamber up and sit perfectly quiet. ... If placed 
in a vessel of water, the temperature of which is grad- 
ually raised, it will not quietly submit to be boiled like 
a frog which has only its medulla and spinal cord, but 
will leap out as soon as the bath becomes uncomforta- 
bly hot. . . . There is a method in its movements. If 
an obstacle be placed between it and the light of a win- 
dow, the frog will not spring blindly against the obsta- 
cle when its toe is pinched, but will clear it or spring 
to the side. It will alter the course of its leap accord- 

[179] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

ing to the position of the obstacle between it and the 
light. There is, so far, no difference between its be- 
havior and that of a frog in full possession of all its 
faculties. But yet a very remarkable difference is per- 
ceptible. The brainless frog, unless disturbed by any 
form of peripheral stimulus, will sit for ever quiet in 
the same spot, and become converted into a mummy. 
All spontaneous action is annihilated. Its past experi- 
ence has been blotted out, and it exhibits no fear in 
circumstances which otherwise would cause it to retire 
or flee from danger. It will sit quite still if the hand 
be put forth cautiously to seize' it, but will retreat if a 
brusque movement is made close to its eyes. Sur- 
rounded by plenty, it will die of starvation; but, unlike 
Tantalus, it has no physical suffering, no desire, and 
no will to supply its physical wants."* Some of the 
details of this classic picture are now known to be 
extreme. The brainless frog, on recovering from the 
shock, shows some power of memory and of sponta- 
neous action. . 

This experiment is not easy to duplicate in the 
higher vertebrates, where the size and importance of 
the cerebrum are so much greater that its removal 
causes more or less complete prostration.. Goltz, how- 
ever, succeeded in removing the cerebral hemispheres 
of a dog and keeping the animal alive for years. Pro- 
fessor Loeb has thus summarized the result of the 
experiments: "In such a dog all those reactions in 

* David Ferrier, Functions of the Brain, London 1886, 
p. 109. 

[180] 



THE CENTRAL NERVOUS SYSTEM 

which the associative memory plays a role are lacking 
permanently, while the simple reactions that only de- 
pend on inherited conditions remain just as in pigeons 
and in other animals."* 

In man we know that equilibrium and locomotion 
may be maintained while the cerebral hemispheres are 
occupied in other directions. The lower regions of the 
brain are the seat of certain mechanical nervous reac- 
tions — that is, reactions which have become mechanical 
through constant (conscious) repetition in a particular 
direction. However much the way may be prepared 
through inheritance, the child must learn to stand and 
to walk. These regions are also the seat of reflex 
manifestations of feeling. When chloroform is admin- 
istered, the cerebral hemispheres are first affected. 
Until the lower centers are reached, the situation is a 
good deal like that in removing the brain of the frog. 
Stimuli which ordinarily excite the feeling of pain 
merely excite the physical accompaniments of pain, 
such as groans and cries, without any feeling whatever. 

By a process of elimination we have learned that the 
cerebral hemispheres are the seat of sensation, volition 
and all the conscious mental activity of man. This 
is true of all vertebrates, the upper brain being spe- 
cialized as the organ of "consciousness." 

In the cortex, or rind, of the cerebral hemispheres, 
we are able to map out the regions where special 
groups of sensory and motor nerves terminate: the 
visual area, the auditory area, the areas governing mus- 

* Loeb, Physiology, 246. 

[ 181 ] 



— 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

cles of throat, arms, fingers, trunk, etc. Stimulation 
of motor regions brings the corresponding muscles into 
play. Injury to motor or sensory regions causes par- 
alysis, of volitional control or perceived sensation for 
the part of the body affected. 

When this mapping is done, about two-thirds of the 
surface of the brain is left, including patches which 
isolate the different sense-areas. What is the signifi- 
cance of this large unmapped region, sometimes care- 
lessly called the "silent area" of the brain? The 
increased cortical surface in man is largely in these 
areas. 

Flechsig's theory, based on anatomical study, is that 
these are "association centers of the cerebral cortex," 
which, "receiving conduction fibres from adjacent sense 
centers and from adjacent as well as distant association 
centers, furnish an anatomical mechanism, which 
makes possible the working up into higher units of 
simple sense impressions and of combinations of simple 
sense impressions of the same quality and of different 
qualities."* 

Some confirmation of this theory is given by modern 
studies in "aphasia," a disease due to injuries in the 
areas of the brain which have come to be associated 
with written or spoken speech, man's most distinguish- 
ing power. Physiologists have been slow to recognize 
this evidence, which seems to me incontrovertible. 
This has probably been because, in the nature of the 
case, the evidence could not, like other facts of local- 

*L. F. Barker, The Nervous System, New York 1899, 

p - ,073 - [ 182 ] 



THE CENTRAL NERVOUS SYSTEM 

ization, be confirmed by experiments on the animal 
brain. Practically the same arrangement of sensory 
and motor centers is found in the monkey as in the 
human brain. Paralysis of these centers leads to the 
same results in either case. But aphasia is unknown in 
the monkey because "phasia" is unknown ; he has never 
learned to talk in any real sense. 

The various speech areas of the cortex have be- 
come association centers for object-seeing, word-seeing, 
word-hearing, object-hearing, music-hearing. Injury 
to any one of these areas is followed by partial or 
complete cessation of the corresponding function. The 
auditory or visual sense-areas may be intact, and still 
the patient be word-deaf or word-blind, or otherwise 
incapable. A man may see the members of his family 
and be unable to recognize them; he may be able to 
recognize objects, but printed words are nothing but a 
blur; he may be unable to distinguish the words which 
come to him through perfectly normal hearing-organs; 
he may lose all power of distinguishing sounds ; he may 
be unable to recognize the most familiar tunes. All 
of these forms of aphasia are familiar to the brain spe- 
cialist; all of them are due to blood clots or local 
injuries. 4 

That the development of these speech areas is due 
to education is shown by the fact that only one hemis- 
phere is affected, the left hemisphere in right-handed 
people, the right hemisphere in left-handed people. 
The other hemisphere may be injured or even de- 
stroyed, without the slightest evidence of aphasia. 

[183] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

Through constant practice in childhood, one of the 
hemispheres, the one related to the hand most used 
(that. is, in the majority of cases, the right hand and 
the left hemisphere), has been educated for articulate 
speech. Cases are known of aphasia in children, ac- 
companied by right-sided paralysis, where the children 
have afterward learned to talk again by educating the 
other hemisphere. This plasticity diminishes with age. 
There is some evidence that parts of these association 
centers of speech are educated in succession. We have, 
for example, the well-known case of word-blindness 
where a man could read Greek perfectly and Latin 
fairly well, but had almost completely lost his French 
and English.* 

What chiefly distinguishes the human brain from 
that of the monkey or chimpanzee is not its size or 
convolution, but the fact that one of the hemispheres 
is chosen during the first few months and parts of its 
cortex developed as centers for auditory and later vis- 
ual speech. Similarly, certain motor areas are educated 
to control the muscles of articulate speech, writing, 
typewriting, piano-playing, etc. Physiologically, this 
acquirement of new faculties appears to make no dif- 
ference. The other hemisphere, for instance, shows 
equal development and the same general arrangement 
of nerve fibres. 

"All truly volitional action," as Ferrier says, "is 
the result of education, the duration of which varies 
within extremely wide limits in different classes and 

* Hinshelwood, Lancet, Feb. 8, 1902. Quoted by W. H, 
Thomson, Brain and Personality, 97. 

[184] 



THE CENTRAL NERVOUS SYSTEM 

orders of animals, and in respect to individual acts of 
volition in the same animal. At birth the human and 
monkey infant have no volition proper, but only the 
elements out of which it is evolved. The actions of the 
infant are at first limited to definite reflex response to 
definite external or internal stimuli, and to indefinite 
or general motor activity, conditioned not so much 
by any definite stimulus as by a natural tendency of the 
nerve centers to expend their surplus energy in action. 
. . . The conscious discrimination of a sensation as 
pleasurable, and its ideal persistence and tendency to- 
wards repetition as desire, and its association with 
things seen, smelt, or tasted, are affected long before 
the sensation, present or revived, is associated with any 
differentiated motor act for its accomplishment or real- 
ization. This latter is the result of happy accident, or 
of repeated trials and error. Though the child pos- 
sesses in the motor centers of its cerebral hemispheres 
the potentiality of differentiated motor acts, the indi- 
vidual selection or excitation of any of these, in re- 
sponse to a present or revived sensation, requires the 
establishment, by education and repetition, of an or- 
ganic nexus between the special sensory center or cen- 
ters, and the special motor center. . . . Voluntary 
control is first established over those movements which 
are also most easily called into play by reflex stimula- 
tion. A child can voluntarily grasp with its fist long 
before it can raise its hand to its mouth, or put out its 
hand to lay hold of anything. . . . The rate at which 
the organic nexuses are established between the sensory 

[185] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

and motor centers varies according to the degree of 
complexity and intricacy of the movements. Complex 
and intricate movements are longer in being acquired 
than those which are simple, and also reflex or already 
hereditarily organized. Hence the movements of artic- 
ulation in combination with those of vocalization are 
longer in being acquired than those of the arms or 
legs."* 

It is not necessary for us to follow further the edu- 
cation of the child's brain, since we as yet know little 
of the physiological processes involved. There is some 
evidence that the brain retains a certain plasticity or 
adaptability even in adults. The hemispheres are not 
interchangeable. If the "talking" lobe, for instance, 
is removed, the other hemisphere cannot be educated 
to take its place. If the patient lives, not only will 
parts of one-half of his body be paralyzed, but he will 
be an idiot, incapable of the higher mental processes. 
But within either hemisphere some substitution of func- 
tion is possible. Professor Ladd has called attention to 
an operation by Dr. Harvey Cushing of Baltimore, in 
a case of paralysis of the facial nerve. Such an opera- 
tion is known as anastomosis. Part of the lower end 
of the accessory nerve was connected with the upper 
end of the injured facial. Improvement was almost 
immediate, and at the end of two hundred and eighty- 
seven days, by the help of electrical treatment and 
exercise of the facial muscles before a mirror, the 
patient had regained almost complete control. One of 

* Ferrier, op. cit., p. 433. 

[186] 



THE CENTRAL NERVOUS SYSTEM 

4 

three things must have taken place. Either there was a 
complete substitution of functions between the centers 
of the facial and accessory nerves, or hitherto unused 
nerve elements were equipped for employment in vol- 
untary motor functions, or the old center, because of 
over-stimulation, had broken over into the new one.* 

♦Geo. T. Ladd, Popular Science Monthly, LXVII, 319, 
(1905). 



[187] 



CHAPTER XII 



NERVE CELLS AND REFLEXES 

Tj^URTHER discussion of the central nervous system 
•*■ must be postponed until we have studied the nerve 
cells which compose it. I shall go into this subject in 
some detail, partly because the material is new to most 
of my readers and partly because of its importance for 
philosophy. The question before us is this: Is there 
anything in the structure of the human brain or in the 
activity of its component cells to explain the remarka- 
ble mental life of man? 

The number of nerve cells in the adult human body 
has been roughly estimated at three billion.* These 
nerve cells, or "neurones" as they are generally called, 
are true cells. They have been studied by the methods 
of fixation and staining which have proved so fruitful 
in modern microscopic biology, and in all the essential 
points of structure and behavior are seen to follow the 
laws of cell life already described. The neurones are, 
however, more highly specialized than any other type 
of cell. 

The most striking characteristic of neurones is the 

* Donaldson, quoted by Barker, Nervous System, 42 note. 
Francke's estimate of the total number of cells in the human 
body, exclusive of the blood corpuscles, is given as 3,996,000,- 
000,000. These figures are of some value in helping us 
realize the relative proportions of the two groups. 

[188] 



NERVE CELLS AND REFLEXES 




Typical Neurone* 

Motor cell, anterior horn of gray matter of cord. From 

human foetus (Lenkossek) : * marks the axone; 

the other branches are dendrites. 



* From A Text-book . of Physiology, 2nd ed. 
Saunders Co., Philadelphia. 

[189] 



W. B. 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

outgrowths to which they usually give rise. These are 
of two kinds, either gray like the cell-body, or "white." 
The former, called dendrites, from their resemblance 
to the branches of trees, are coarse projections of pro- 
toplasm, running out from the cell-body in several di- 
rections, dividing and tapering. They may thus cover 
considerable space — sometimes a hundred times that of 
the cell-body. Their ends are free, though often in 
contact with the dendrites of other neurones, and pos- 
sibly in some cases united by cell-bridges. Each type 
of nerve-cell has its own form of ramification. 

The other sort of outgrowths, known as axones, 
come in some cases from the stem of the dendrite, but 
usually they are earlier in time and come directly from 
the cell-body. They are straighter and smoother than 
the dendrites. They branch but do not taper. Their 
length varies from a fraction of a millimeter to half 
the height of a man. The ends are free, though in 
contact with other axones and dendrites. 

The axone, when not passing through other gray 
matter, is usually provided with a sheath, apparently 
for protection or insulation. This consists of a thick 
fatty layer (myelin) and a cellular layer. The myelin 
sheath is what is familiarly known as the white matter 
of the brain and nerves. This sheath is acquired by the 
axone, the date of acquistion apparently depending on 
its future location. 

The chemistry of neurones appears to be more com- 
plex than that of any other cells. They contain a large 
amount of water — 83-84 per cent in the adult brain 

[ 190] 



NERVE CELLS AND REFLEXES 

cells — indicating great solubility and instability in the 
compounds. Of the solid matter, the principal groups 
are the proteins — about 50 per cent — and the lipoids, 
resembling fats. In metabolism, the cell-bodies are 
served as usual by the blood and lymph. 

The nutrition of the axones is still uncertain, 
whether dependent entirely on the cell-body or partly 
independent; the unsheathed axone is bathed by lymph. 
The neurone is evidently a unit, since severing an 
axone leads to degeneration, not only in the axone but 
to a certain extent in the cell-body. The latter, how- 
ever, may be due to the loss of its usual channel for 
activity. Regeneration is possible if the connection 
between the axone and the cell-body can be rees- 
tablished. Up to a certain point in individual devel- 
opment, new nerve-cells are formed by division. 
Whether this is possible in the adult brain, new nerve- 
cells being formed to take the place of those which 
have been injured, is still uncertain, with the evidence 
pointing toward a negative. 

Our knowledge as to the functions of different parts 
of the neurone is incomplete. In some cases, though 
not in all, the dendrites, through their branches, receive 
a stimulus which, traversing the cell-body, is passed out 
through the ends of the axone. Probably nerve-im- 
pulses may pass in both directions, since the neurone as 
a whole is a conductor. The nerve-cell sinlply repre- 
sents a specialization of the conductivity of the origi- 
nal one-celled organism. Its function is to conduct 
stimuli. 

[191] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

Just how this conduction takes place we do not 
know. A slight stimulus from the outside world often 
sets free a series of movements involving a very much 
larger amount of energy. This increase of energy is 
supplied by the organism itself. Conduction must be 
to some extent connected with the instability of the 
chemical compounds of the neurone, and the process 
of metabolism constantly going on. The region of the 
brain is especially well supplied with blood, and the 
pressure rises almost at once when intellectual activity 
begins. There is also a slight rise of temperature, indi- 
cating more active metabolism. In any neurone bad 
nutrition means poor conduction. Over-stimulation 
leads to fatigue — that is, the exhaustion of food (en- 
ergy) reserves. Under-stimulation seems to lead to 
degeneration. On the other hand, there is considerable 
recent evidence to show that the conduction itself is a 
physical rather than a chemical process. 

The rate of conduction, as studied by electrical stim- 
ulation of a frog's nerve, is about 3 x io 3 centimeters 
per second. (It is interesting to compare this with the 
velocity of the electric current along a perfect conduc- 
tor, which is 3 x io 10 cm. sec.) In practice, the rate 
of conduction is very much lower, since we have to deal 
not with individual nerve-cells but with nerve-cells or- 
ganized into a nervous system. 

Neurones form part of what may be termed reflex 
arcs, each consisting of a receptor, a chain of conduct- 
ing cells, and an effector. What is ordinarily meas- 
ured, therefore, is a reflex, or round-trip reaction. The 

[ 192] 



NERVE CELLS AND REFLEXES 

flexion reflex in a dog's hind leg would have an arc of 
about two-thirds of a meter, and would require .027 
seconds at the rate of conduction for a single neurone. 
Sherrington finds this rate reached or exceeded only 
with a very strong stimulus. Double that period is 
common, and with a mild stimulus it may reach as high 
as two-tenths of a second. He considers the delay to 
be due chiefly to the "synapse," or surface of separa- 
tion between individual neurones.* One peculiarity 
of the reflex-arc is that the stimulus always passes in 
the same direction. 

Let us take up the reflex-arc in more detail. The 
receptor is a cell especially adapted to receive stimuli. 
Most of these are on the outer surface of the animal, 
which is in direct contact with the environment. Em- 
bedded in the dermis are certain cells, some of which 
are sensitive to touch, others to temperature, etc. Still 
other receptors, probably naked nerve-endings, respond 
to any stimulus which tends to do harm to the skin. 
The sense organs are organized groups of receptor- 
cells, enabling an animal to respond to environmental 
stimuli coming to it from a distance. Receptors are 
found also to a certain extent on the internal surface 
of the animal, which is in contact with food and other 
material derived from the environment. Once more, 
receptor-cells are found in connection with the mus- 
cles, organs, blood-vessels, etc. These cells are affected 
only indirectly by the environment, but are sensitive 
to changes going on within the organism. 

* Charles S. Sherrington, Integrative Action of the Nerv- 
ous System, 1906, p. 19, et passim. 

[ 193] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 




Diagram Illustrating Neurone Series* 



*From The Nervous System. G. E. Stechert & Co., New 
York (1909). 

[ 194] 



NERVE CELLS AND REFLEXES 

We pass next to the chain of ingoing nerve-tracts. 
What may be called the sensory neurones of the first 
series are all found outside the spinal cord, from which 
they have wandered. Each of these nerve-cells puts 
out two axones. One goes toward the periphery to 
innervate, through its branches, a number of receptor- 
cells. It ordinarily conducts the particular stimuli 
to which these receptors are sensitive, and no others, 
although it is capable of conducting the electrical stim- 
uli of the laboratory, if these are of sufficient strength. 
The other axone goes to the spinal cord, enters it and 
divides, one branch passing down, one passing up for a 
considerable distance, perhaps as far as the cerebellum. 
In all cases, even for the hands and feet, the sense im- 
pression is carried well within the central nervous sys- 
tem by means of a single cell. 

The sensory nerves of the second series are not as 
well known. They start at various levels of the spinal 
cord and in the lower regions of the brain. Through 
their dendrites and cell-bodies they collect impressions 
from the axone-ends of the first neurones. The path 
followed is extremely varied, as is the length of the 

Diagram Illustrating Neurone Series 

Scheme of peripheral spinal sensory neurone showing the 
peripheral process, d, extending to the sensory surface D, 
and a central axone c, entering the spinal cord through the 
dorsal root of a spinal nerve, there bifurcating at e into an 
ascending and a descending limb which give off numer- 
ous collaterals. The cell body is shown in the spinal gang- 
lion G. A is motor neurone in cortex, b a segment of spinal 
cord, c motor neurone connecting with muscles. (After S. 
Ramon y Cajal, Les nouvelles idees, etc. Translated by 
Asoulay, Paris, 1894, P* 2 5» Fig- 6.) 

[195] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

axones. In some cases these neurones of the second 
series carry the conduction as far as the cortex. The 
majority probably end in the optic thalami at the base 
of the hemispheres. Thence the stimulus is transmitted 
to the cortex by from one to eight additional series of 
neurones. (The most roundabout conduction paths 
are those by way of the cerebellum.) Each neurone, 
through its dendrites, is in constant communication 
with a vast number of other neurones, both sensory 
and motor, in the same general level. The net result 
must be a pretty constant activity on the part of all 
the nerve-cells. 

Turning to the outgoing nerve-tracts, or motor-neu- 
rones, governing the muscles of various parts of the 
body, the nerve-cells of the first series (to reverse the 
order) have their cell-bodies located in the cortex, from 
which axones descend to varying levels: some few as 
far as the lower end of the spinal cord, in other cases 
only to lower sections of the hemispheres or to the 
other regions of the brain. Thence the stimulus is car- 
ried to the neurones of the end-series by from one to a 
number of connecting series, as in the case of the sen- 
sory nerves. The cell-bodies and dendrites of the 
lower motor-neurones are all within the central nerv- 
ous system, usually in the medulla or the cord, where 
they form distinct columns of gray matter. Their 
axones, passing out of the cord at the joints of the seg- 
ments, have followed the ancestral muscle-cells in their 
wanderings, so that the easiest way to locate the orig- 
inal segmentation of a muscle is to trace the nerves 

[i 9 6] 



NERVE CELLS AND REFLEXES 

by which it is governed. Each axone-end of a motor- 
neurone is usually in contact with, or actually buried 
in, a muscle-cell. 

In the upper brain, besides the sensory and motor 
neurones or their parts, already described, we find 
other neurones which simply connect different regions. 
Some of these connect the two hemispheres (the cell- 
body being located in one and its axones reaching the 
cortex of the other). The others, known as association 
neurons, are found in a single hemisphere. The cell- 
bodies are located in the cortex, or gray rind of the 
brain, with short or long axones; in the latter case 
they have often been traced to widely separated 
regions. 

Having described the parts of a reflex-arc, we are 
now prepared to see it in action. Let us take as an 
example the scratch-reflex of a dog's left hind foot, as 
studied in a "spinal" dog — that is, one deprived of its 
brain. A mechanical stimulus on the shoulder is car- 
ried by one or more neurones from the skin to the gray 
matter of the corresponding segment of the spine. In 
this case, if several scratch-receptors are stimulated 
simultaneously they reinforce one another. The con- 
duction is not continuous but rhythmic, the neurones 
exhibiting a "refractory phase." A second neurone 
acts as a common path for these irritation-stimuli, and 
for no others, carrying the summated stimulus from 
the shoulder segment to the leg segment of the cord. 
Thence the stimulus is carried to the muscle by a third 
(motor) neurone, which acts as a final common path 

[197] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 




Diagram Illustrating Scratch-Reflex in Dog 

[198] 



NERVE CELLS AND REFLEXES 

for many sorts of stimuli from various parts of the 
body. (Only one impulse may be carried at a time, 
the different sorts of stimuli mutually interfering; each 
has its characteristic quality, which modifies the result- 
ing reflex.) In the case of the scratch-reflex, the third 
link evidently consists of two neurones (or sets of neu- 
rones), one reaching the extensor muscles of hip, knee 
and ankle, the other reaching the corresponding flexor 
muscles. The refractory phase in these cases takes 
the form of alternate contraction and inhibition. The 
result is a rhythmic alternation of flexion and exten- 
sion, each recurring about four times per second, the 
net result being a rapid scratching of the irritated part. 
Even such a simple reflex as this is an elaborate me- 
chanical process, involving the spacial and temporal 
coordination of a number of distinct neurones. This 
coordination is as much a matter of inheritance as is 
the arrangement of skin, nerves and muscles. By anal- 
ogy we may suppose it to originate in the mutations of 
the dog's zoological history. The human animal exhib- 
its many reflexes of this automatic type. 

Passing to the field of reflex action which involves 
the higher centers, the following points may be noted. 

Diagram Illustrating Scratch-Reflex in Dog 

s, scratch receptor on surface of shoulder. 

e., e, 1 e, 2 nerve endings in extensor muscles of hip, knee and 

ankle. 
f, f, 1 f, 2 same in flexor muscles of hip, knee and ankle, 
i, neurone conducting stimulus from receptor. 

2, neurone in spinal cord acting as common path. 

3, final common path to extensor muscles. 

4, final common path to flexor muscles. 

[ 199] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

The vast number of reflex-arcs in the normal animal 
are coordinated as a single nervous system. "The sin- 
gleness of action from moment to moment thus 
assured," says Sherrington, "is a keystone in the con- 
struction of the individual whose unity it is the specific 
office of the nervous system to perfect. ... It is not 
usual for the organism to be exposed to the action of 
only one stimulus at a time. It is more usual for the 
organism to be acted on by many stimuli concurrently, 
and to be driven reflexly by some group of stimuli 
which is at any particular moment prepotent in action 
on it. Such a group often consists of some one pre- 
eminent stimulus with others of harmonious relation 
reinforcing it, forming with it a constellation of stim- 
uli, that, in succession of time, will give way to 
another constellation which will in its turn become 
prepotent."* 

All the important reflex-arcs have circuits leading 
through the cortex of the cerebrum, and the reflex may 
be started or inhibited in the cortex. As to the nature 
of the physiological dominance of the brain, I may 
quote some further passages from Professor Sherring- 
ton. "In motile animals constituted of segments 
ranged along a single axis, e.g., vertebrata, when loco- 
motion of the animal goes on, it proceeds for the most 
part along a line continuous with the long axis of the 
animal itself, and more frequently in one direction of 
that line than in the other. The animal's locomotor ap- 
pendages and their musculature are favorably adapted 

* Integrative Action of the Nervous System, 176. 

[ 200 ] 



NERVE CELLS AND REFLEXES 

for locomotion in that habitual direction. In the ani- 
mal's progression certain of its segments therefore lead. 
The receptors of these leading segments predominate 
in the motor taxis of the animal. They are specially 
developed. Thus, in the earthworm, while all parts 
of the external surface are responsive to light, the di- 
rective influence of light is greatest at the anterior end 
of the animal. The leading segments are exposed to 
external influences more than are the rest. Not only 
do they receive more stimuli, meet more "objects" de- 
manding pursuit or avoidance, but it is they which 
usually first encounter the agents beneficial or hurtful 
of the environment as related to the individual. Pre- 
eminent advantage accrues if the receptors of these 
leading segments react sensitively and differentially to 
the agencies of the environment. And it is in these 
leading segments that remarkable developments of the 
receptors, especially those of the extero-ceptive field, 
arise. Some of them are specialized in such degree as 
almost obscures their fundamental affinity to others 
distributed in other segments. Thus among the system 
of receptors for which radiation is the adequate agent 
there are developed in one of the leading segments a 
certain group, the retinal, particularly and solely, and 
extraordinarily highly, amenable to radiations of a cer- 
tain limited range of wave-length. These are the 
photo-receptors, for which light and only light, e.g. 
not heat, is the adequate stimulus. In like manner a 
certain group belonging to the system receptive of me- 
chanical impacts attains such susceptibility for these 

[201 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

as to react to the vibrations of water and air that con- 
stitute physical sounds. The retina is thus a group of 
glorified 'warm-spots,' the cochlea a group of glorified 
'touch-spots.' Again, a group belonging to the system 
adapted to chemical stimuli reach in one of the leading 
segments such a pitch of delicacy that particles in quan- 
tity unweighable by the chemist, emanating from sub- 
stances called odorous, excite reaction from them." 

"It is in the leading segments that we find the 'dis- 
tance-receptors/ For so may be called the receptors 
which react to objects at a distance. These are the 
same receptors which, acting as sense-organs, initiate 
sensations having the psychical quality termed proji- 
cience. The receptor organs adapted to odors, light, 
and sound, though stimulated by the external matter 
in direct contact with them, as the vibrating ether, the 
vibrating water or air, or odorous particles, — yet gen- 
erate reactions which show 'adaptation,' e.g., in direc- 
tion of movements, etc., to the environmental objects 
at a distance, the sources of those changes impinging 
on and acting as stimuli at the organism's surface." 

"The 'distance-receptors' seem to have peculiar im- 
portance for the construction and evolution of the nerv- 
ous system. In the higher grades of the animal scale 
one part of the nervous system has, as Gaskell insists, 
evolved with singular constancy a dominant importance 
to the individual. That is the part which is called the 
brain. The brain is always the part of the nervous 
system which is constructed upon and evolved upon the 
'distance-receptor organs. Their effector reactions 

[ 202 ] 



NERVE CELLS AND REFLEXES 

and sensations are evidently of paramount importance 
in the functioning of the nervous system and of the 
individual." 

"As initiators of reflex movements the action of the 
distance-receptors is characterized by tendency to work 
or control the musculature of the animal as a whoUj — 
as a single machine, — to impel locomotion or to cut it 
short by the assumption of some total posture, some 
attitude which involves steady posture not of one limb 
or one appendage alone, but of all, so as to maintain 
an attitude of the body as a whole. Take, for instance, 
the flight of a moth toward a candle, the dash of a pike 
toward a minnow, and the tense steadiness of a frog 
about to seize an insect. These reactions are all of 
them excited by distance-receptors, though in the one 
case the musculature is impelled to locomotion toward 
the stimulus (positive phototropism), in the other re- 
strained (inhibited) from locomotion. ... In both 
reactions the skeletal musculature is treated practically 
as a whole and in a manner suitably anticipatory of a 
later event. . . . The projicient receptors and their 
reflexes once gone, even intense stimuli do not readily 
move or arrest the creature as a whole. It is relatively 
difficult to get the 'spinal' frog to spring or swim." 

"The series of actions of which the distance-receptors 
initiate the earlier steps form series much longer than 
those initiated by the non-projicient. Their stages, 
moreover, continue to be guided by the projicient or- 
gans for a longer period between initiation and consum- 
mation. Thus in a positive phototropic reaction the 

[203] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

eye continues to be the starting place of the excitation, 
and in many cases guides change in the direction not 
only of the eyeball but of the whole animal in locomo- 
tion as the reflex proceeds. The mere length of their 
series of steps and the vicissitudes of relation between 
bodies in motion reacting on one another at a distance 
conspire to give to these precurrent reflexes a multi- 
formity and complexity unparalleled by the reflexes 
from the non-projicient receptors. The reaction started 
by 'distance-receptors' where positive not only leads 
up to the consummatory reactions of the non-proj icient, 
but on the way thither associates with it stimulation of 
other proj icient receptors, as when, for instance, a pho- 
totropic reaction on the part of a Selachian brings the 
olfactory organs into range of an odorous prey, or, 
conversely, when the beagle sees the hare after running 
it by scent. In such a case the visual and olfactory 
receptor arcs would be related as 'allied' arcs, and rein- 
force each other in regard to the mesencephalo-spinal 
path, or in higher mammals the 'pyramidal' or other 
pallio-spinal path. It is easy to see what copious op- 
portunity for adjustment and side connection such a 
reaction demands, consisting as it does of a number of 
events in serial chain, each link a modification of its 
predecessor."* 

In the higher vertebrates (below man) even the 
coordination of these cerebral reflex-arcs is chiefly a 
matter of inheritance. We have seen that in human 
coordination education plays a very much larger part. 

* Op. cit., 223 ff. 

[ 204 ] 






NERVE CELLS AND REFLEXES 

The child must learn space by innumerable reactions. 

It seems probable that man inherits a full set of neu- 
rones. The deaf-mute idiot often has as large and 
complex a brain as a child whose distance-receptors 
have been intact. Physiology has made little progress 
in determining just what is involved in the training of 
the cortical neurones for use in controlling the lower 
motor centers. About the only clue so far is that fur- 
nished by the studies of Flechsig in the successive 
sheathing of neurones with myellin or white matter. 
For example, in the unmapped area of the human brain, 
in which are found the centers directly involved in 
speech and thought, the axones acquire their sheaths at 
a somewhat later period than the axones in the sensory 
and motor areas. Is this acquirement due to inheri- 
tance, or is it due to the use of these axones by the 
individual? In the development of the individual 
brain, do the neurones of the cortex send out new or 
longer axones to form new connections (associations) 
as they are needed ? Or is the undoubted plasticity of 
even the adult brain to be explained by the passage of 
stimuli across synapses and along neurone-chains al- 
ready in place but never before utilized? 

The nerve-cells of the cortex do not appear to differ 
from other neurones, unless it is in their greater chem- 
ical instability. Like other neurones they undergo cer- 
tain energy-transformations and thus conduct stimuli. 
On account of the enormous number of nerve-cells in 
the cortex and their connections with each other 
through axones and dendrites, it is probable that en- 

[ 205 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

ergy-transformation and conduction is almost continu- 
ous, in both hemispheres. That is about as far as brain 
physiology carries us, or perhaps is likely to carry us. 
There is nothing in the individual brain-cells or in the 
machinery of reflex-arcs, wonderful as this is, to sug- 
gest the higher mental processes. To these we must 
now turn our attention. 



[206] 



CHAPTER XIII 

THE HUMAN MIND 

WHAT is consciousness? I shall begin with the 
statement of a distinguished physiologist: "The 
fundamental process which recurs in all psychic phe- 
nomena is the activity of the associative memory, or 
of association. Consciousness is only a metaphysical 
term for phenomena which are determined by associa- 
tive memory. By associative memory I mean that 
mechanism by which a stimulus brings about not only 
the effects which its nature and the specific structure of 
the irritable organ call for, but by which it brings about 
also the effects of other stimuli which formerly acted 
upon the organism almost or quite simultaneously with 
the stimulus in question. If an animal can be trained, 
if it can learn, it possesses associative memory. By 
means of this criterion it can be shown that Infusoria, 
Coelenterates, and worms do not possess a trace of asso- 
ciative memory. Among certain classes of insects (for 
instance, wasps), the existence of associative memory 
can be proved. . . . Only certain species of animals 
possess associative memory and have consciousness, and 
it appears in them only after they have reached a cer- 
tain stage in their ontogenetic development. This is 
apparent from the fact that associative memory depends 
upon mechanical arrangements which are present only 

[207] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

in certain animals, and present in these only after a cer- 
tain development has been reached."* 

Physiologically and historically this statement is un- 
doubtedly correct. Among plants and the lower ani- 
mal organisms the only "psychic" life is that which I 
have already described under the categories of biology. 
It is quite evident that there is no break in evolution 
when consciousness appears in the species, no break in 
development when it arises in the individual. Psychic 
phenomena are merely a higher order of biological phe- 
nomena. In the more developed animals the irrita- 
bility of the original single cell has become specialized 
in distinct nerve-cells. These have increased in man 
to three billion. The fused and cooperative life of 
these three billion cells, or their principal representa- 
tives, constitutes what we know as mind. 

We have still to answer the question : "What is con- 
sciousness?" For a description, one may study his own 
mental states, or compare notes with others who are 
making the same study. But this does not carry us 
very far. The weakness of the old introspective psy- 
chology has been its inability to apply experimental 
methods. Until we can experiment on an object, we 
have no sure antitoxin for illusion. Experimental psy- 
chology is, for the most part, not psychology at all, but 
physiology. The lack is now beginning to be supplied 
by the systematic study of human behavior. 

In the first place, what is the normal human mind 
able to do ? What activities are open to the cells of the 

* Loeb, Comparative Physiology, 12. 

[208] 



THE HUMAN MIND 

cortex in the left hemisphere, acting more or less as a 
unity? I attempt an answer in the following sum- 
mary, which includes a number of points already 
touched on. Some abnormal cases will be discussed in 
the next chapter. 

In the stream of human mental life there appear a 
succession of sensations, arising in most cases as stimuli 
from organic processes or from the external world, 
these stimuli being transmitted by the body or its sense 
organs through the proper neurone chain. These may 
be followed by revivals of past sensations. The stream 
may become the perception of an object. It may be- 
come a recept or a still more abstract concept, sym- 
bolized by a thought word. Through the parts of the 
brain controlling audible speech and the muscles of 
vocalization, the word may actually be spoken. Every 
normal human adult, whether savage or civilized, is 
able to speak. And, where other humans attach similar 
meanings to the symbolic sounds used, he is able to talk. 
Our elaborate languages, originating long before the 
invention of writing, are one of the greatest monu- 
ments to the power of the human mind. 

Speech involves memory. Every normal man can re- 
member, to a degree unknown among the other ani- 
mals. As to the mechanism of memory — how mental 
states are registered in the brain-cells and afterwards 
revived — we are almost completely in the dark. It 
seems probable that the process is similar to that in- 
volved in habit: by frequent repetition certain associa- 
tions of sensory and motor neurones come to be more or 

[209] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

less permanent, so that a stimulus, once started, will 
follow that line and no other. Man is able to revive 
sensations, percepts, thought-concepts, spoken word- 
concepts, written word-concepts. Each department of 
conceptual life has a more or less definite center in the 
brain, injury to which involves a loss of memory in 
that department. 

Man is conscious in the fullest sense. He not only 
perceives objects, but he knows that he perceives them. 
He can make an* object of his own mental processes. 
He is able to distinguish himself from other men, or 
from objects in the external world. He can even dis- 
tinguish himself from parts of his own body. Professor 
James has taught us to notice a number of different ele- 
ments in a man's self: the material self, the body, 
clothes, family, home, property; the social self, the 
recognition he receives from his fellows, his place in the 
community life; the spiritual self, his memories, opin- 
ions, preferences, ambitions — among these "selves" 
there is a certain interaction and rivalry — and lastly 
the pure ego, or whatever is involved in the sense of 
personal identity and the appropriation of past experi- 
ences as belonging to the "me."* Each of these 
"selves" is of importance in the social history of the 
race. 

The stream of mental life may take other directions. 
Man is not only able to form images of the objective 
world and of his own states, but he is able, by means of 

♦William James, Principles of Psychology, 1890, vol. I, 
chap. X. 

[ 210 ] 



THE HUMAN MIND 

revived images, to imagine ideal objects, associations 
and states. He thus lives in the future as well as in 
the past and present. Imagination is of great impor- 
tance, even in savage life, as intensifying or supple- 
menting primitive instincts or emotions, such as fear, 
love, hate, the desire for food, shelter or ornament, etc. 
It is the basis of pictorial art, and of literature, from 
the first story-telling to the classics of civilized man. 
It is one of the principal sources of invention, of im- 
provement in the arts, of the discovery of new regions, 
new business openings, new facts, new hypotheses. 

All the higher animals are capable of emotion. But 
in the case of man this is not confined to instinctive 
reactions. An object that is merely imagined may ex- 
cite as strong feeling as an external object. It seems 
probable that all emotion has a certain basis in bodily 
sensations. But man is generally able to neglect these 
bodily sensations and so control his emotions, a power 
that is technically known as inhibition. Emotions play 
a great part in the sexual life of man, in his social life, 
in art, music and literature. They are the foundation 
of those judgments of value by which his practical 
choices are largely governed. 

The stream of consciousness may take the form of 
reasoning. Various concepts are revived in new group- 
ings.. The new concept which results is largely an 
abstraction of what is like or unlike in the revived con- 
cepts. Thus a savage comes on a mound of earth that 
resembles a snake. This sets him to thinking of the 
snake as a dangerous being he would like to be able to 

[211] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

control. It occurs to him that by operating on the 
image of the snake he will be able to control the snake 
(what is known as sympathetic magic). Again, the 
physician comes on a case of paralysis of the right side 
of the body. He finds that the left cerebral hemisphere 
has been injured. He draws the conclusion that the 
left hemisphere controls the right side of the body. 
Reasoning, like conception, is exclusively a human 
power. To this .power is chiefly due man's dominant 
place in nature. It enables him to interpret and profit 
by experience. It opens to his knowledge the world in 
which he lives. It makes possible such achievements as 
the Kritic of Pure Reason or the synthetic philosophy 
or the Zambesi bridge or the discovery of radium or the 
doctrine of relativity. 

Finally, man's mental stream may consist of voli- 
tional control. This may appear as attention to certain 
sensations, emotions or revived images. It may take 
the form of control over lower regions of the central 
nervous system. Such control is limited both in scope 
and in degree, but by no means as limited as in other 
animals. Man, for instance, is able for an appreciable 
moment to stop breathing, a nervous-muscular process 
that usually goes on mechanically. He has almost com- 
plete control over vocalization and the focussing of his 
organs of sight. The most important exercise of this 
power is in the control of his limbs. Adult man can 
employ his hands in hunting, house-building, the mak- 
ing and use of tools, writing, drawing, piano-playing, 
the operation of elaborate machines. For this purpose, 

[212] 



THE HUMAN MIND 

as already stated, certain regions of the left hemisphere 
are specially educated. t In all these cases of volition 
man apparently is able to choose between ideas, differ- 
ent courses of action, different uses to which he shall 
put his fingers. Which he will choose of two alterna- 
tives presenting themselves in the stream of conscious- 
ness may depend on emotion or reason or mental habit. 
But the choice itself consists of attending, with more or 
less feeling of effort, to the one and dismissing the 
other.* 

Is human behavior so consistent that it may be pre- 
dicted with accuracy? Undoubtedly, as far as relates 
to the response of the normal waking organism to its 
environment. Laws governing such response may be 
formulated. In the present state of our knowledge, it 
is doubtful whether the same laws can be applied with- 
out modification to the thought life of man, to sleep 
and allied states, or to the abnormal. With these res- 
ervations I give Thorndike's scheme, based on compar- 
ative psychology and physiology. 

i. "The same situation will, in the same animal, 
produce the same response; and if the same situation 
produces on two occasions two different responses, the 
animal must have changed. . . . The changes in an 
organism which make it respond differently on different 
occasions to the same situation range from temporary 
to permanent changes. Hunger, fatigue, sleep, and 
certain diseases on the one hand, and learning, immu- 

* So James, op. cit, II, 570. 

T2I3] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

nity, growth and senility on the other, illustrate this 
range." 

2. The law of original behavior, or instinct. "To 
any situation an animal will, apart from learning, re- 
spond by virtue of the inherited nature of its reception- , 
connection-, and action-systems." 

3. The law of effect. "Of several responses made 
to the same situation, those which are accompanied or 
closely followed by satisfaction to the animal will, 
other things being equal, be more firmly connected with 
the situation, so that, when it recurs, they will be more 
likely to recur; those which are accompanied or closely 
followed by discomfort to the animal will, other things 
being equal, have their connections with that situation 
weakened, so that, when it recurs, they will be less 
likely to occur. The greater the satisfaction or discom- 
fort, the greater the strengthening or weakening of the 
bond." 

4. The law of exercise. "Any response to a situa- 
tion will, other things being equal, be more strongly 
connected with the situation in proportion to the num- 
ber of times it has been connected with that situa- 
tion and to the average vigor and duration of the 
connections."* 

It is possible to go further and formulate the social 
law that two or more men, with the same general edu- 
cation, are likely to respond in the same way to similar 
situations. This explains the parallelisms of thought 
and action so frequently met with in human history, es- 

* Animal Intelligence, 241 ff. 

[214] 



THE HUMAN MIND 

pecially among primitive races. All these laws illustrate 
the fact, to which I have earlier alluded, that the 
development of the human mind is a process of adjust- 
ment to the physical world in which we find ourselves. 
Man responds consistently to the sensations of sight, 
touch, etc., which reach him from his environment, 
because it is by those very sensations that his brain and 
mind have been educated. 

In the biological section of our work, we raised the 
question: "What is life?" and attempted to give a 
provisional answer. What further light has been 
thrown on this question in the portion of the psycho- 
logical field which we have just traversed? Psychol- 
ogy, strictly speaking, is only a subdivision of biology. 
That which we call "mind" is a certain phase of the 
life of a higher organism taken as a whole. It repre- 
sents the specialization and perfection of that side of 
organic life which we described under our first bio- 
logical category — active adjustment to environment. 
Whatever comes under that category, from the irrita- 
bility of the simplest protozoan to the bridge-building 
or legislation or philosophizing of the human species, 
may properly be termed psychical. What do these psy- 
chical facts teach us as to life in particular and the uni- 
verse in general? 

Mind as we are able to observe it is, to use a chem- 
ical expression, always in combination and never free. 
We have no knowledge of mind apart from a brain and 
nervous system; it is always organized, like life itself. 
Constant reference has been made to this constant par- 

[215] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

ailelism between nerve-cells on the one side and the 
stream of consciousness on the other. Psychology sim- 
ply assumes the fact of parallelism. The first question 
before us, as philosophers, is whether brain or mind is 
fundamental. Are the familiar mental phenomena 
produced by the physical processes of body and nerve- 
cells, or does the psychical itself organize and control 
these cells?* 

Many considerations point toward the latter as the 
true answer: the mind organizes the brain. There is, 
first of all, the evidence of biology. We were led to 
define life provisionally as that which is able to organ- 
ize inorganic material into a cell-machine, and, through 
a number of such organic machines, of constantly in- 
creasing complexity, to exercise further control over 
physical energies and forces. There is nothing in inor- 
ganic, physical processes to suggest this active ad- 
justment, this organizing and control which are 
characteristic of all biological and so of all psychical 
phenomena. 

Again, there is nothing in the known activity of the 
nerve-cells to represent consciousness. The physical 
changes which take place in neurones when transmit- 
ting stimuli are one thing, the accompanying sensations, 
percepts and concepts are quite another thing. This 
fact is one of the commonplaces of psychology. 

The gradual evolution of species at least suggests 

that mind is the organizing and controlling factor. 

* There is no real evidence for a third alternative — that 
mind and brain are forever parallel and that neither acts 
upon the other. 

[216] 



THE HUMAN MIND 

Organisms must adjust themselves to the world in 
which they live. The machinery for such adjustment 
grows ever more complex and complete. Certain cells 
are set apart to serve this particular function. A cen- 
tral nervous sjstem evolves, with ingoing and outgoing 
nerve-tracts. Part of this central nervous system be- 
comes a brain. The upper regions of the brain are 
specialized and assume a certain control over the lower. 
And, as a consequence, the life or mind in man is able 
to do all that we have described. He can do it because 
he has the machinery to use for such a purpose. Let 
there be a break in the machinery he has been accus- 
tomed to use, and the mind of man becomes corre- 
spondingly incapacitated. 

This argument is suggestive, but not by any means 
conclusive. The process may legitimately be given the 
reverse interpretation, and our mental states resolved, 
as with Huxley, into " the symbols in consciousness of 
the changes that take place automatically in the organ- 
ism." But one series of facts adds impressive weight 
to the idea of the brain as simply the organ utilized by 
the mind in its varied activities. These facts have been 
developed in the little book on "Brain and Person- 
ality." Dr. Thomson's analogies are often misleading 
and his conclusions unwarranted, but the facts he gives 
are essentially sound. Physiologically the two halves 
of the brain tend to correspond, even to minute details. 
There is no inherent reason why both should not de- 
velop as the organs for speech and the higher mental 
processes, or why one hemisphere should develop 

[ 217 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

rather than the other. The explanation is, in one 
sense, purely mechanical. It depends on early right- or 
left-handedness, which, as far as our present knowledge 
goes, is an arbitrary and accidental matter. 

The association of one or the other hand with fur- 
ther brain development is undoubtedly due to the asso- 
ciation of gesture and vocalization in the early attempts 
at expression. Gesture language is the first language 
used by children, and it plays a large part in the life 
even of civilized adults. Dr. Thomson, calls attention 
to the close proximity, in the motor regions of the 
brain, of the area governing the movements of the 
hand and the "centers which preside over the move- 
ments of the muscles of the face, of the lips and of the 
tongue. A common and associated action of these 
parts, therefore, would be much more natural than 
between the muscles of the face, for example, and 
those of the leg. We can then see how readily facial 
expression, lending itself to gesture in attempts at com- 
munication, would seek the cooperation of lip and 
tongue for vocal sounds. . . . But as the right hand 
is the oftenest used for every purpose, so is it of the two 
hands the oftenest used for gesture, which means of 
course for language. As soon as other parts were sought 
for to cooperate with gesture in language, the appeal 
would necessarily be to the neighboring centers in the 
left brain, and not by crossing the corpus callosum 
bridge to the corresponding centers in the other hemis- 
phere. It would not be long, therefore, before the 
habit became settled to use only parts in the left brain 

[2.8] 



THE HUMAN MIND 

for this specialized work, until finally the habit became 
fixed for life."* 

All other training of the nervous system and brain, 
even the development of special centers for word- 
seeing and word-hearing, is carried on by the environ- 
ment, acting through the sensory series of nerves, with 
their mechanical transmission of stimuli. Because of 
the unvarying character of these stimuli, a nerve cen- 
ter becomes accustomed to transmit them to the same 
set of motor nerves. Of such acquired habits the out- 
side world is the ultimate source. But in the case of 
speech and thought the training is done, not through 
the sensory but through the motor nerves. t It is these 
which are involved in gesture and vocalization. Speech 
and gesture, it is true, may be called out by the environ- 
ment. But the response is active, not merely passive. 
The mind of the child, or some section of the mental 
life associated with the cerebral cortex, regulates the 
response which is given. Indirectly, this regulative 
agent, whatever it is, fashions the brain, by organizing 
centers to perform new functions, and by projecting 
(or training) new association fibers. 

In other words, whenever a child learns to talk and 
has certain centers in one of its cerebral hemispheres 
educated for that purpose, we have a concrete instance 
of mind — whatever that may be — controlling brain. 
"We can make our own brains," as Dr. Thomson says, 

* Wm. H. Thomson, Brain and Personality, 1908, p. 114 ff. 

t The same thing is illustrated in the Montessori system 
of education, where the child learns to write through tracing 
sandpaper letters with the fingers. 

[219] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

"so far as mental functions or aptitudes are concerned, 
if only we have wills strong enough to take the trouble. 
. . . While it is doubtless true that all individuals of 
our race are not born with equally good brains, yet 
the fact remains that the special mental capacities for 
which certain men have become eminent were all ac- 
quired, and were not congenital. ... In other words, 
a great personality may possibly make a good brain, but 
no brain can make a great personality."* 

"The reaction of reflex arcs," says Sherrington, "is 
controllable by the mechanism to whose activity con- 
sciousness is adjunct. The reflexes controlled are often 
reactions but slightly affecting consciousness, but con- 
sciousness is very distinctly operative with the centers 
which exert the control. It may be that the primary 
aim, object and purpose of consciousness is control. 
'Consciousness in a mere automaton,' writes Professor 
Lloyd Morgan, 'is a useless and unnecessary epiphe- 
nomenon.' As to how this conscious control is opera- 
tive on reflexes, how it intrudes its influence on the 
running of the reflex machinery, little is known. "f 

The control of the physical by the mental is even 
more apparent in the subconscious, a field that will 
occupy our attention in the next chapter. An idea im- 
pressed on the hypnotic subject will start or inhibit 
almost any reflex or group of reflexes. He will feel 
pain when there is no wound, and feel nothing when 
the wound is severe. He will be mentally blind to 



*Id., 223, 233, 234. 
f Enc. Brit., IV, 405 a. 



[220] 



THE HUMAN MIND 

objects in the same room, or discern objects beyond the 
range of normal vision. The subconscious mind is able 
to regulate to a minute detail the circulation of the 
blood, causing scars or hemorrhages to arise in a certain 
spot merely through suggestion. Suggestion will cause 
a patient to sweat at a fixed hour, it will lower the 
temperature of the hand ten degrees, it will cure ec- 
zema, neuralgia and other bodily diseases. 

The induction which we made in regard to life 
seems thus far to be confirmed by the study of mind. 
There is nothing in the psychical field, sub-human or 
human, that is inconsistent with the idea of vital con- 
trol, and there is much that confirms it. We may de- 
fine mind provisionally as that form of life which, 
through the machinery of nerve-cells, synapses and 
reflex-arcs, is able to direct and control the muscle- 
cells in the same organism, and, indirectly, the energies 
and forces of the external world. 



[22i] 



CHAPTER XIV 

THE SUBCONSCIOUS 

H\URING the last thirty years or more, another 
-*^ continent has been added to the known world of 
psychology. The scientific development of abnormal 
or unusual mental states has thrown a new light on 
the problem of personality, very much, as the study 
of diseased tissue has been teaching medical men the 
nature of tissue. Consciousness is now, as it were, on 
an experimental basis. I outline here some of the most 
important material thus far gathered, leaving its inter- 
pretation for a following chapter. 

(a) Certain groups of phenomena which may be 
covered by the somewhat frayed term intuition. While 
the normal mind reaches its conclusions by a process of 
induction, whether crude or scientific, there are cases 
where a conclusion or judgment is reached, or appears 
to be reached, directly, without the use of the elaborate 
machinery of associations established in the brain. 

We have first the case of persons in extreme danger. 
Many of the ordinary physical processes are weakened 
or inhibited, but the mind acts with unusual clearness, 
deciding without hesitation on a proper and often new 
course of action. At times the body is made to perform 
feats of agility, strength or endurance impossible under 
ordinary circumstances. 

[ 222 ] 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS 

We have next the intuition of the prodigy, especially 
in mathematics. In most of the lightning calculators 
known to us, the gift appeared at an age of from three 
to ten, and lasted only a few years. In this it resem- 
bles the visualizing power, which is stronger in child- 
hood than in adult years. Remarkable mathematical 
aptitude may appear in stupid people, as well as in those 
normally intelligent. Dr. Whately writes of his own 
case: "There was certainly something peculiar in my 
calculating faculty. It began to show itself at between 
five and six, and lasted about three years ... I soon 
got to do the most difficult sums, always in my head, 
for I knew nothing of figures beyond numeration. I 
did these sums much quicker than any one could upon 
paper, and I never remember committing the smallest 
error. When I w r ent to school, at which time the 
passion wore off, I was a perfect dunce at ciphering, 
and have continued so ever since." "Buxton would 
talk freely whilst doing his questions, that being no 
molestation or hindrance to him." Edward Blyth, who 
retained his gift in later life, says: "I am conscious of 
an intuitive recognition of the relation of figures. For 
instance, in reading statements of figures in news- 
papers, which are very often egregiously wrong, it 
seems to come to me intuitively that something is 
wrong, and w T hen that occurs I am usually right. I 
have always felt that there were times when my power 
was much weaker than others, not only when tired, 
but, like a musician, when not in the mood. I have not 
the same confidence now at 66 years of age as when 

[ 223 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

younger. That is to say, I like to check a calculation 
before stating it, though I can do nearly as difficult 
ones as at any time of my life, though not so rapidly." 
"Whenever," Bidder says, "I feel called upon to make 
use of the stores of my mind, they seem to rise with 
the rapidity of lightning."* 

Hudson has cited the case of the musical prodigy 
known as "Blind Tom," a negro. "This person was 
not only blind from birth, but was little above the 
brute creation in point of objective intelligence or 
capacity to receive objective instruction. Yet his mu- 
sical capacity was prodigious. Almost in his infancy 
it was discovered that he could reproduce on the piano 
any piece of music that he had ever heard. A piece of 
music, however long or difficult, once heard, seemed 
to be fixed indelibly in his memory, and usually could 
be reproduced with a surprising degree of accuracy. 
His capacity for improvisation was equally great, and a 
discordant note rarely, if ever, marred the harmony 
of his measures."! 

Akin to the intuition of the prodigy is that commonly 
met with in genius, and less frequently in the mental 
life of the average man. Conclusions are reached, 
judgments formed, problems solved, without conscious 
effort, without any apparent association with the men- 
tal stream flowing at the time. Many of our scientific 
discoveries and hypotheses have come in this way. 

* F. W. H. Myers, Human Personality and its Survival 
of Bodily Death, 1903, Vol. I, 79 ff, based largely on art. 
by Scripture in Am. J. of Psychology, Vol. IV, No. 1. 

fT. J. Hudson, Law of Psychic Phenomena, 1893, p. 68. 

[224] 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS 

Sometimes the thinker was in a state of revery, some- 
times actively engaged and thinking of something else. 
"One does not work," writes de Musset, "one listens; 
it is like a stranger who talks to you at your ear." La- 
martine says: "It is not I who think; it is my ideas 
which think for me." "My conceptions," says another, 
'rise into the field of consciousness like a flash of light- 
ning or like the flight of a bird." "In writing these 
dramas I seemed to be a spectator at the play ; I gazed 
at what was passing on the scene in an eager, wonder- 
ing expectation of what was to follow. And yet I felt 
that all this came from the depth of my own being." 
Ideas may need time to mature. M. Sully Prudhomme 
writes: "I have sometimes suddenly understood a geo- 
metrical demonstration made to me a year previously 
without having in any way directed thereto my atten- 
tion or will. It seemed that the mere spontaneous 
ripening of the conceptions which the lectures had im- 
planted in my brain had brought about within me this 
novel grasp of the proof." Dr. Arago: "Instead of ob- 
stinately endeavoring to understand a proposition at 
once, I would admit its truth provisionally; — and next 
day I would be astonished at understanding thoroughly 
that which seemed all dark before."* 

Combe, a French artist, who was able to paint in 
one year over three hundred portraits of unusual fidel- 
ity, thus described his method : "When a sitter came, I 
looked attentively on him for half an hour, sketching 

* Chebaneix, Le Subconscient chez les Artistes, les Savants, 
et les Ecrivains, Paris, 1897. Quoted by Myers, op. cit., 
I, 89. 

[225] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

from time to time on the canvas. I did not require a 
longer sitting. I removed the canvas and passed to 
another person. When I wished to continue the first 
portrait, I recalled the man to my mind. I placed him 
on the chair, where I perceived him as distinctly as 
though really there, and, I may add, in form and color 
more decidedly brilliant. [This, as we shall see, is a 
characteristic of waking hallucinations.] I looked 
from time to time at the imaginary figure, and went on 
painting, occasionally stopping to examine the picture 
exactly as though the original were there before me; 
whenever I looked toward the chair, I saw the man."* 
We may hear next from M. de Curel, a French 
dramatist. "He begins in an ordinary way, or with 
even more than the usual degree of difficulty and dis- 
tress in getting into his subject. Then gradually he 
begins to feel the creation of a number of quasi-per- 
sonalities within him; — the characters of his play, who 
speak to him; — exactly as Dickens used to describe 
Mrs. Gamp as speaking to him in church. These per- 
sonages are not clearly visible, but they seem to move 
round him in a scene — say a house and garden — which 
he also dimly perceives, somewhat as we perceive the 
scene of a dream. He now no longer has the feeling of 
composition, of creation, but merely of literary revision ; 
the personages speak and act for themselves, and even 
if he is interrupted while writing, or when he is asleep 
at night, the play continues to compose itself in his head. 
Sometimes while out shooting, etc., and not thinking 

* Law of Psychic Phenomena, 58. 

[226] 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS 

of the play, he hears sentences rising within him which 
belong to a part of this play which he has not yet 
reached."* 

In another field we have the case of Henry Clay, 
unexpectedly called upon to answer an opponent on a 
question in which he was deeply interested. Clay felt 
too unwell to reply at length. "It seemed imperative, 
however, that he should say something, and he exacted 
a promise from a friend, who sat behind him, that he 
would stop him at the end of ten minutes. Accord- 
ingly, at the expiration of the prescribed time the friend • 
gently pulled the skirts of Mr. Clay's coat. No atten- 
tion was paid to the hint, and after a brief time it was 
repated a little more emphatically. Still Clay paid no 
attention, and it was again repeated. Then a pin was 
brought into requisition; but Clay was by that time 
thoroughly aroused, and was pouring forth a torrent of 
eloquence. The pin was inserted deeper and deeper 
into the orator's leg without eliciting any response, 
until his friend gave it up in despair. Finally Mr. 
Clay happened to glance at the clock, and saw that he 
had been speaking two hours; whereupon he fell back 
into his friend's arms, completely overcome by exhaus- 
tion, upbraiding his friend severely for not stopping 
him at the time prescribed." Daniel Webster, on be- 
ing asked by a friend how it happened that he was able, 
without preparation, to make such a magnificent effort 
when he replied to Hayne, answered substantially as 
follows: "In the first place, I have made the Constitu- 

* Myers, I, 107, summarizing art. by Binet, U Annie Psy- 
chologique, 1894, p. 124. 

[227] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

tion of the United States the study of my life; and 
on that occasion it seemed to me that all that I had ever 
heard or read on the subject under discussion was pass- 
ing like a panorama before me, arranged in perfectly 
logical order and sequence, and that all I had to do 
was to cull a thunderbolt and hurl it at him."* 

There is little to bear out Lombroso's theory of 
degeneracy. Genius sometimes shades into the abnor- 
mal, but the manner of this shading is suggestive. 
There is the same abstraction as in other cases of 
genius, the same up-rush of ideas or images, the same 
sense of inspiration, but the ideas or images are not co- 
ordinated and controlled. William Blake, for instance, 
was subject to visions, which he regarded as real. His 
later poetry is largely incoherent. 

It is possible that our aesthetic judgments and other 
judgments of value should be classed as intuition. 
They frequently appear to be instantaneous, coming 
without any sense of effort, and not dependent on any 
process of reasoning. In some cases (children and sav- 
ages) they do not seem to depend on education or pre- 
vious association. 

(b) Sleep. Physiologically this is the periodic re- 
cuperation of the nervous system, especially of the 
upper brain, and to a certain extent of the body which 
it controls. The temperature and blood-pressure of 
the brain decreases, the pulse and breathing are low- 
ered, and there is a large reduction in the amount of car- 
bonic acid gas given off. Mosso has shown "that there 

* Law of Psychic Phenomena, 59-60. 

[228] 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS 

are frequent adjustments in the distribution of the 
blood, even during sleep. Thus a strong stimulus to 
the skin or to a sense organ — but not strong enough to 
awaken the sleeper — caused a contraction of the vessels 
of the forearm, an increase of blood pressure, and a 
determination of blood toward the brain; and, on the 
other hand, on suddenly awakening the sleeper, there 
was a contraction of the vessels of the brain, a general 
rise of pressure, and an accelerated flow of blood 
through the hemispheres of the brain. So sensitive is 
the whole organism in this respect, even during sleep, 
that a loudly spoken word, a sound, a touch, the action 
of light or any moderate sensory impression modified 
the rhythm of respiration, determined a contraction of 
the vessels of the forearm, increased the general pres- 
sure of the blood, caused an increased flow to the brain, 
and quickened the frequency of the beats of the 
heart."* Sleep is to be distinguished from coma, 
which is connected with the accumulation of blood in 
the vessels of the brain, and from syncope, or fainting, 
due to a sudden weakening of the heart's action and 
the insufficient supply of blood. 

Psychologically, sleep is the more or less complete 
absence of consciousness. Its intensity varies, being 
very much greater during the first hour. In deep sleep 
the ordinary mental processes are held in abeyance. 
At the same time there is evidence that a certain men- 
tal activity persists throughout this state. A mother, 
otherwise sound asleep and completely unconscious, is 

*Enc. Brit. XXV, 239 b. 

[229] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

ready to wake with the stirring or cry of her baby. 
We have all noted the same thing in nurses, profes- 
sional and amateur. A man plans to wake at a speci- 
fied hour, and he does so as exactly as if he had set an 
alarm clock. Waking at a certain hour may become a 
habit. (All these points are paralleled in our waking 
life.) The physical changes during sleep, noted in the 
last paragraph, may be presumed to have a psychical 
accompaniment, even when there is no evidence of 
dreaming. The same thing is indicated by the fact 
that any normal sleeper will awake if disturbed by a 
sufficiently strong stimulus. Sleep does not interfere 
with the continuity of ordinary consciousness; on wak- 
ing we usually begin our mental life where we left off 
when we lost consciousness. The same is true of 
syncope or deep coma from which the patient recovers. 
In these cases, however, the activity of the brain, and 
presumably of the mind, is in abeyance. 

While passing to or from deep sleep, or at other 
times when the intensity of sleep is low, the mind is 
partially conscious. In this state some of our faculties 
may be abnormally active. We draw conclusions or 
solve problems, just as in "intuition." Sometimes the 
setting is luxuriantly appropriate, as when a Babylonian 
priest appeared to Professor Hilprecht and told him the 
meaning of two Babj/lonian inscriptions.* This is due 
to our increased visualizing power, and the dream 
image often persists for a few moments as a waking 
hallucination. Many times we go on wrestling with 

* Myers, I, 376. 

[ 230 ] 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS 

the questions which occupied us when we went to 
sleep. M. Rette, a French poet, says that he "falls 
asleep in the middle of an unfinished stanza, and when 
thinking of it again in the morning finds it completed. 
And M. Vincent d'Indy, a musical composer, says that 
he often has on waking a fugitive glimpse of a musical 
effect which (like the memory of a dream) needs a 
strong immediate concentration of mind to keep it from 
vanishing."* Robert Louis Stevenson's description of 
the dream characters who wrote his stories for him is 
almost exactly parallel with the waking experience of 
M. de Curel, already given. f 

In the more common type of dream, the mind seems 
at first thought to be running riot. Attention and 
other voluntary control is wanting, there is no possi- 
bility of using the sense-organs to check illusion, induc- 
tive reasoning is unknown, the imagination has free 
play and anything that comes into our mind is real. 
But, with these limitations, the mind works about as 
usual. As one image calls up another, the link of asso- 
ciation between them is based on our previous mental 
history, very much as in waking imagination. A large 
proportion of our dreams are started by some external 
or organic stimulus. Many experiments have been 
made along this line. Thus Maury says that when 
cologne was held to his nose he dreamed he was in 
Farina's shop in Cairo. A bed-pole once fell on his 
neck and he was in the French Revolution and finally 

* Id., I, 89. 

t See chapter on Dreams, in Across the Plains. 

[231] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

guillotined. "Another class of dreams is that in which 
the abnormal bodily states of the dreamer are brought 
to his knowledge in sleep, sometimes in a symbolical 
form ; thus a dream of battle or sanguinary conflict may 
presage a hemorrhage."* Sometimes dreams may be 
started by a suggestion made verbally to the sleeper. 
Other dreams are due to the apparently automatic revi- 
val of past experiences. 

Memory in dreams differs in some ways from wak- 
ing memory. It is less exact as to time and space rela- 
tions, personal identity, etc. At the same time events 
may be recalled which, for the waking subject, were 
completely forgotten or never consciously known. We 
shall meet with further evidence of a mental life below 
the threshold of ordinary consciousness. Again, the 
same dream, or certain parts of it, may recur, even to 
the exact reproduction of some image — for example, a 
picture or a particular printed page. Such a feat is 
impossible when one is awake. On regaining full con- 
sciousness, one often remembers the dream itself, at 
least for a short time, and thus it fits into the con- 
tinuity of mental life. Often the dream will strongly 
affect the physical and mental state of the individual. 

Another striking psychological fact is the failure to 
maintain a clear consciousness of the self. Sometimes 
we seem to be watching ourselves, like spectators at a 
play. Sometimes we appear as several persons at once, 
an example of multiple personality. We may assume 
imaginary or historical characters. 

* Enc. Brit. VIII, 560, c. 

[232] 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS 

In the sense-illusions and hallucinations of waking 
life, the image seen or heard appears much more vivid 
than in the dream. According to the census under- 
taken by the Society for Psychical Research, at least 
ten per cent of all sane persons have experienced hal- 
lucinations while apparently awake and in health. 
These are generally visions of some familiar friend. 
Voices are sometimes heard. Hallucinations may be 
brought on by fixing the eyes on a polished surface, as 
in crystal gazing, also by intense hunger, by the action 
of certain drugs, and in the course of disease. The 
phenomena are undoubtedly physiological in their basis, 
the usual neurone processes being disturbed, or stimu- 
lated from within rather than through the senses. In 
some cases such inward stimulation is probably mental : 
with normal persons there is apt to be a previous state 
of expectation which predisposes the subject to the 
illusion or hallucination. 

Persons in the dream stage of sleep are quite suscep- 
tible to motor suggestion. A sleeper when cold will 
draw up the cover. A child turns over when told to 
do so. A rider will fall asleep and still keep his seat 
on the horse and hold the reins. Some sleepers will 
answer when spoken to, and even hold extended 
conversations. In all these cases, as in laughter, mut- 
tering, or bodily movements, there may be an accom- 
panying dream which is not remembered. My brother 
when a boy was roused to eat some ice-cream. Next 
morning he saw the empty plates and complained be- 
cause he had not been wakened to share the treat. 

[233] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

This brings us to somnambulism, which might be 
described as a dream acted out under the impulse of a 
dominant idea. Sometimes the faculties of sight and 
hearing are active and open to impressions. The sub- 
ject generally acts without speaking. The somnam- 
bulist may go through customary actions, write a letter, 
play on a musical instrument, walk in dangerous places, 
or even commit an immoral act. Like most other 
dreams involving bodily movement, this is not remem- 
bered on waking. 

(c) Hypnosis. Here certain phenomena occurring 
in ordinary consciousness, in dreams or in the abnor- 
mal, appear in high relief and under experimental con- 
trol. By suggestion or the fixing of attention, the 
patient is put into a condition in some ways resembling 
sleep, where he is peculiarly susceptible to "sugges- 
tion." He readily accepts the idea or command given 
him by the operator. In the lighter stages, the hypno- 
tized person is aware of what goes on. The only 
change is in the control over voluntary movements. 
For example, he will raise his arm in imitation of the 
operator or in obedience to his command, and he cannot 
let it down until told that he is able to do so. In deep 
hypnosis the patient is not conscious. He is almost 
completely under the operator's control. Sense illu- 
sions and hallucinations are readily induced — especially 
the former. If told that a third person is not present, 
the patient ignores his presence. If told that a piece 
of cloth is a kitten, he begins to stroke it. Hypnotics 
will act a suggested part with great skill, even the part 

[234] 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS 

of an animal or inanimate object. Motor suggestions 
are carried out just as in somnambulism. On the 
other hand, the inhibition of movement may resemble 
the rigidity of catalepsy and last for a number of hours. 
Total or partial loss of sensation may be induced. The 
power of the senses may be inhibited, or greatly 
increased. A patient has been known, without a 
microscope, to see and draw cells only .06 mm. in 
diameter. 

Hypnosis, though parallel in some ways to the nerv- 
ous disease of hysteria, does not appear to be a patho- 
logical condition. Pulse and breathing are generally 
normal, or slightly lowered as in deep sleep. Without 
special suggestion, the power of both senses and muscles 
is somewhat less during hypnosis. There is seldom any 
noticeable fatigue, even when the same position is main- 
tained for a long time. Practically any normal person 
may be hypnotized, under favorable circumstances. If 
mild methods are used in inducing hypnosis and suffi- 
cient care is taken in waking the patient, there appear 
to be no harmful effects, as is also the case with 
somnambulism. 

The dissociation of consciousness has been given a 
physiological explanation. I will briefly outline the 
theory, although it must still be regarded merely as a 
working hypothesis. Through the contact of axones 
and dendrites, cells become organized into groups and 
series, which are more or less stable, according to their 
complexity, the date of their formation and the fre- 
quency of their use. An unusual stimulus — for exam- 

[235] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

pie, a poison, a blow or a strong emotion — causes the 
association fibres to contract and thus break contact 
between the cells. The more complex associations 
which have been formed are the first affected. The cell 
itself remains intact until we reach the stage of insan- 
ity. In normal consciousness, the various trains of 
nerve impulses, and so of ideas, modify one another. 
In sleep, hypnosis or the abnormal, the more delicate 
association paths are blocked. The nervous impulse 
will follow the simpler cell-connections, without inter- 
ference from parallel series of associated cells. The 
psychical result is that each group of ideas, when ex- 
cited, tends to work itself out without interference 
and to become realized in action. Hypnosis would thus 
be merely "a temporary functional depression" of many 
or all of the nerve-cells. 

All persons are more or less susceptible to suggestion, 
without hypnosis. If one says to an embarrassed per- 
son, "You are getting red in the face," he generally 
starts to blush. Paralysis and other physical effects 
may be brought on by suggestion in the waking state- 
In many cases the suggestion must be carefully veiled, 
as Sidis has pointed out. The suggestion may come 
from the subject himself; he may be unable to use his 
limbs because he has convinced himself that he cannot 
do so. The stammerer who talks perfectly well when 
he forgets his impediment, but begins to stammer as 
soon as he thinks of stammering, is another case of 
auto-suggestion. It is not easy to draw the line be- 
tween suggestion in the waking state and suggestion in 

[236] 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS 

light hypnosis. Even the "rapport" between operator 
and patient finds a close parallel in the influence of 
one personality over another in ordinary life. 

To illustrate the physical effects brought on by a 
dominant idea, I cite the classic case of Louise Lateau, 
which may have been hypnotic, though it is not usually 
so classed. A number of similar cases are known. 
"This young Belgian peasant had been the subject of 
an exhausting illness, from which she recovered rapidly 
after receiving the Sacrament; a circumstance which 
obviously made a strong impression on her mind. Soon 
afterward, blood began to issue every Friday from a 
spot on her left side; in the course of a few months, 
similar bleeding spots established themselves on the 
front and back of each hand, and on the upper surface 
of each foot, while a circle of small spots formed on the 
forehead; and the hemorrhage from these recurred 
every Friday, sometimes to a considerable amount. 
About the same time fits of 'ecstasy'* began to recur, 
commencing every Friday between 8 and 9 A. M., and 
ending about 6 P. M., interrupting her in conversation, 
in prayer, or in manual occupations." When she recov- 
ered, she distinctly remembered what had passed 
through her mind during the "ecstasy." She had wit- 
nessed the passion of the Lord and "minutely described 
the cross and the vestments, the wounds, and the crown 
of thorns about the head of the Savior."* 

For a case of stigmatization under hypnosis, I cite 
an experiment of Professor Forel on an attendant in 

*Wm. B. Carpenter, Mental Physiology, 1876, p. 689. 

[237] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

the Zurich Asylum. With the point of a blunt knife 
he drew two light crosses on her chest. "They- did not 
bleed. Another cross was made on the inner side of 
each forearm. Several doctors were present. Forel 
suggested the appearance of blisters on the right side. 
Even at the end of the five minutes, during which Forel 
watched the subject, so that fraud was out of the 
question, a considerable reddish swelling of the skin 
had appeared. A wheal, looking like nettle-rash, had 
formed itself round the cross, somewhat in the shape of 
a cross. On the left side nothing was to be seen but 
the cross that had been drawn, unaltered. The wheal 
on the right side resembled a vaccination pustule, in the 
form of a cross; but it was simply a papular swelling, 
as in nettle-rash."* A case of stigmatization due to a 
dream is given by Dr. Krafrt-Ebing.f 

The power of memory is ordinarily somewhat weak- 
ened in hypnosis. It may, however, be specially stimu- 
lated by suggestion, and there are other cases of 
unusual power of recollection. Languages learned in 
childhood and since forgotten may be revived. There 
is the celebrated case of the ignorant servant girl who 
burst into Hebrew, which she had heard when young 
in a clergyman's home. Ignorant fanatics, when in an 
ecstasy, have been known to repeat carefully-con- 
structed religious addresses. 

On waking from light hypnosis the patient remem- 
bers what has taken place during the trance. In some- 

* Albert Moll, Hypnotism, p. 136. 
t See Myers, I, 127. 

[238] 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS 

what deeper stages a dim memory may persist; the 
events may be recalled by some association of ideas. 
The most striking fact about deep hypnosis is that dur- 
ing this state the patient remembers not only the events 
of his waking life, but the events of previous hypnotic 
states, of which he knows nothing when awake. If 
playing a certain character, however, he only remem- 
bers his hypnotic experiences in that character. For- 
gotten dreams are sometimes recalled in hypnosis, and, 
vice versa, hypnotic experiences may recur in dreams. 
The impressions of the hypnotic state, although not 
consciously remembered, will reappear, as in automatic 
writing, or when the subject is commanded by the 
previous operator to remember,* or in what are known 
as post-hypnotic suggestions. A patient on waking will 
carry out commands which have been given, and per- 
haps invent some plausible reason for so doing. If told 
he will itch when he wakes, the subject will itch. If 
told he will dream certain things, he subsequently 
dreams them. Suggestion will cause a patient to forget 
certain facts or events, and this loss of memory may 
persist for a considerable time. Sense-delusions and 
hallucinations in the waking state may be induced in 
the same way. There is evidence that in some cases the 
carrying out of a post-hypnotic suggestion is really a 
new hypnosis, the patient being susceptible to further 
suggestions and unconscious of his acts. The patient 
may appear sleepy or uneasy until the suggestion is 
carried out. After light hypnosis the patient may real- 

* Boris Sidis, Psychology of Suggestion, 1898, p. 119. 

[239] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

ize the source of his constraint and still be unable to 
resist. 

The hypnotic subject is far from being an autom- 
aton. His will resists in various ways. "The more 
an action is repulsive," says Dr. Moll, "the stronger is 
his resistance. Habit and education play a large part 
here; it is generally very difficult to suggest anything 
that is opposed to the confirmed habits of the subject. 
For instance, suggestions are made with success to a 
devout Catholic, but directly the suggestion conflicts 
with his creed it will not be accepted. The surround- 
ings play a part also. A subject will frequently decline 
a suggestion that will make him appear ridiculous. A 
woman whom I put into cataleptic postures, and who 
made suggested movements, could not be induced to put 
out her tongue at the spectators. In another such case 
I succeeded, but only after repeated suggestions. The 
manner of making the suggestion has an influence. In 
some cases it must be often repeated before it succeeds ; 
other subjects interpret the repetition of the suggestion 
as a sign of the experimenter's incapacity and of their 
own ability to resist."* A repugnant suggestion may 
lead to the request to be awakened, or even to an 
attack of hysteria. 

Hudson has pointed out the fact that inductive rea- 
soning is unknown in dreams or in hypnosis. The 
mind is open to suggestion but not to doubt. The pa- 
tients cannot argue. To deny one of their statements 
throws them into confusion, and often awakens them, 

* Hypnotism, 188. 

[240] 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS 

with a severe nervous shock. This is undoubtedly due 
to the fact that the denial is a counter-suggestion to 
the one under which they are acting. The subject 
will, however, follow out every idea to its logical con- 
clusion. A suggested introduction to Socrates caused 
a cultured young man of Washington to converse with 
the sage for over two hours, developing a philosophy 
of "spiritism" quite opposite to his materialistic wak- 
ing beliefs. When other characters were introduced, 
the diction changed, but the philosophy was the same, 
being based on the same assumption of a returned 
spirit.* 

Another author says: "It is often necessary to sug- 
gest a false premise to the subject before he will do 
what is wanted. X cannot be induced to spill a glass 
of water in my room, but when I tell him that the 
room is on fire he does it at once."t 

(d) Double and Multiple Personality. I begin 
with the classic case of Felida X, to which nervous 
pathology has since added many parallels. "Felida was 
a native of Bordeaux, the daughter of a sea captain, 
and until her thirteenth year seemed like any normal 
child. Then, however, she manifested tendencies to 
hysteria, and a little later fell periodically and quite 
spontaneously into a trancelike condition, out of which 
she would emerge the possessor of characteristics rad- 
ically different from those of her normal self. Oddly 
enough, the secondary Felida was a conspicuous im- 

* Law of Psychic Phenomena, 36. 
t Moll, op. cit. 178. 

[241 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

provement over the primary Felida, who was of a mel- 
ancholy, fretful, and taciturn disposition, whereas the 
trances left her buoyant, vivacious, and social. What 
was stdl more striking, when in the secondary state 
she had a clear memory for all the events of both 
states, but when her normal self knew nothing of the 
happenings of the secondary condition. Before she 
was fifteen the alternations of personality occurred so 
often that her parents called in a physician, Dr. Azam, 
of ' Bordeaux, who has left a graphic account of her 
mysterious history. Every means w T as tried in vain to 
check the recurrence of her 'crises,' but happily her 
malady ultimately worked its own cure. Little by lit- 
tle the secondary state gained command over the pri- 
mary, until the latter finally appeared only at rare 
intervals, and the patient thus became a new woman 
in the strictest sense of the term. In no way did she 
suffer inconvenience save when lapsing into her primary 
self, for each such lapse meant a loss of memory for the 
occurrences of a now lengthy period. 'She then,' we 
are told, 'knew nothing of the dog that played at her 
feet, or of the acquaintance of yesterday. She knew 
nothing of her household arrangements, her business 
undertakings, her social duties.' Making a virtue of 
necessity, P'elida accustomed herself whenever she felt 
the premonitory symptoms of an attack, to write letters 
to her other self, giving full directions as to the con- 
duct of her domestic and social affairs, and in this way 
she was enabled to bridge the gap in memory to some 
extent. It was in 1858 that Dr. Azam first studied 

[242] 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS 

her, and when he last reported on her case, in 1887, she 
was married, was the happy mother of a family, and 
was constantly in the secondary state, excepting for 
lapses of but a few hours' duration occurring only six 
or seven times a year."* 

We have seen the ease with which different person- 
alities are assumed in sleep and in hypnosis. Dr. Boris 
Sidis and others have used hypnosis (and the interme- 
diate "hypnoidal" state) in cases of secondary person- 
ality. Their object is partly to learn the previous 
history of the patient and partly to effect a cure by 
suggestion. We may take the case of Rev. Thomas 
C. Hanna. For convenience I again use the summary 
given by Bruce. 

"Mr. Hanna, in the spring of 1897, was plunged 
into a state of complete amnesia as the result of a fall 
from a carriage. He lost all sense of identity, forgot 
the events of his past life, had no sign of recognition 
for relatives and friends. More, he had to be taught 
to read, to write, even to talk and walk and eat. It 
was at first thought that his future home would have to 
be in an asylum, but as time progressed and he dis- 
played the possession of a keen, vigorous, intelligent 
personality, his case was referred to Drs. Sidis and 
Goodhart in the hope that they might succeed in recov- 
ering the lost contents of his consciousness. Their im- 
mediate concern was to learn whether any memory of 
events antedating the accident persisted in a subcon- 
scious, dissociated state. Resort is usually had to hyp- 

* H. Addington Bruce, Riddle of Personality, 1908, p. 62. 

[243] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

notism for this purpose, but it was found impossible 
to hypnotize Mr. Hanna. However, hypnoidization 
. . . convinced Drs. Sidis and Goodhart that the lost 
memories survived, and the effort was now made to 
bring them permanently into the field of waking con- 
sciousness. The experiment was tried of conducting 
the patient to theaters, saloons, and other places of 
entertainment to which, in his normal state, he would 
not think of resorting. It was hoped that there might 
result a reintegrating, reassociating shock, and this hope 
was actually realized. One night there developed a 
spontaneous but brief recurrence of the original person- 
ality. The experimenters persevered, and soon wit- 
nessed the phenomenon of alternating personality. One 
moment the patient would be the Mr. Hanna of old, 
the next the secondary Mr. Hanna. He was ceaselessly 
urged to try to remember in each personality the 
thoughts, feelings, actions of the other. Memory was 
to be the bridge across the chasm separating the two 
personalities. Ultimately, complete fusion was effected 
and the clergyman restored to his family, a normal, 
healthy man."* 

The trance medium develops a number of alternate 
personalities. Thus Mrs. Piper believed herself and 
gave every external evidence of being in communica- 
tion with departed "spirits." At first she impersonated 
a French doctor named Phinuit, later a Boston lawyer 
generally known as George Pelham and then a group 

* Id., 102. For a full description of the case see Sidis and 
Goodhart, Multiple Personality. 

[244] 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS 

of "controls" (Imperator, Rector, Doctor, Mentor and 
Prudens) which had been prominent in the case of an 
earlier medium. When Dr. Hyslop began to investi- 
gate the case, the spirit of his father made its appear- 
ance, and then the spirit of a previous investigator, 
Dr. Hodgson. The only real difference between this 
case and that of the hypnotized Washington lawyer 
conversing with Socrates is the extraordinary knowl- 
edge of events sometimes shown by the medium. To 
this problem I shall return in the closing section of the 
chapter. 

(e) The Subconscious. The foregoing groups of 
phenomena may be strung on a single thread. They 
prove the existence of a field of mental life below the 
threshold of ordinary consciousness, a field whose activ- 
ities and experiences are not recognized in our waking 
moments. Let me put together, at the cost of repeti- 
tion, some of the things which modern investigation has 
shown regarding this subconscious mind. 

A subconscious mental life is practically continuous 
in adults; it goes on as long as "cerebration" goes on. 
There is no clear evidence for subconsciousness in syn- 
cope or coma, when the activity of the brain is in- 
hibited. But we find it in deep sleep. The sleeper 
retains a time-consciousness, a responsiveness to cries or 
other signals. We find the subconscious in catalepsy 
and deep hypnosis. We find it in our waking hours: 
whenever a person is conscious, he is at the same time 
subconscious. Impressions are received and activities 
undertaken of which the person has no knowledge, in 

[245] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

the ordinary sense. To give only one of the many lines 
of evidence, Binet had a patient read a journal, in 
which he soon became absorbed. Then very gently 
he caused the patient's right hand to execute (in com- 
plete unconsciousness) certain movements, such as those 
involved in forming spirals or making dots. After a 
few minutes the hand, left to itself, kept on tracing the 
movements which had been learned. That is, the sub- 
conscious personality could be taught to write, very 
much as the conscious personality. After three thou- 
sand laboratory experiments, with the same result, Dr. 
Sidis speaks of the life of the waking self-conscious- 
ness as flowing within the larger life of the subwaking 
self "like a warm equatorial current within the cold 
bosom of the ocean."* 

This subconscious mind emerges above the threshold 
of consciousness in our remembered dreams and in 
waking hallucinations. It may be brought out experi- 
mentally in hypnosis. It is to the subconscious that 
the mental healer makes his appeal. To it are probably 
due the "intuitions" of genius or of the ordinary man, 
the achievements of the calculating boy, the behavior 
of the somnambulist or of the person in a sudden 
crisis. To the subconscious is undoubtedly to be cred- 
ited much of the training of mind and character. 

For the subconscious mind, as we know it, changes 
of personality are kaleidoscopic. In our dreams we 
are now Napoleon, now a coal-heaver, now one per- 
son, now several persons, now an animal or an inani- 

* Psychology of Suggestion, 162. 

[246] 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS 

mate object. So in hypnosis, according to the oper- 
ator's whim. One of these fleeting characters may 
emerge and become fixed as a secondary personality, 
taking the place of the normal personality or alternat- 
ing with it. Beneath whichever personality is en- 
throned in consciousness, the stream of the subconscious 
flows on. Ideas and groups of ideas may become fixed 
in the same way, as frequently in hysteria. A patient 
may become afraid to cross an open space or to sit in a 
closed room. He may suddenly develop a mania for 
stealing: one of Janet's patients even stole from him- 
self. Such ideas arise within the subconscious mind, 
and are often removed by an appeal to the subconscious. 
Memory in the subconscious life is encyclopaedic. It 
includes all that ever enters our conscious memory and 
a great deal more. There is some evidence that all we 
have consciously perceived or experienced since early 
childhood, and much to which we paid no attention 
at the time, is here permanently registered. In revery, 
hypnosis, secondary personality, we may draw from 
deeper levels of this record than we do in deliberate 
recollection. Thus one of Dr. Breuer's patients, Miss 
Lucy P., had a hallucinatory smell of burnt pudding, 
and also of tobacco smoke. Careful inquiry proved 
that in each case the smell made up part of the set- 
ting of a scene in which her emotions had been strongly 
stirred.* Probably all memory is to be considered as 
subconscious; waking recollection is merely a selection 

* Breuer and Freund, Studien iiber Hysterie, summarized 
in Myers, I, 51 ff. 

[247] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

by the conscious personality from the stores beneath the 
threshold. 

The most striking characteristic of the subconscious 
field is its suggestibility, its plasticity, its readiness to 
fall in with any idea strongly impressed upon it. Dr. 
Sidis has proved the identity of normal and abnormal, 
of waking and sleeping suggestibility. "It is the sub- 
waking, the reflex, not the waking, the controlling, 
consciousness that is suggestible. Suggestibility is the 
attribute, the very essence of the subwaking, reflex con- 
sciousness. . . . Abnormal suggestibility varies as di- 
rect suggestion, and inversely as indirect suggestion. 
Normal suggestibility varies as indirect suggestion, and 
inversely as direct suggestion. These two laws are 
the reverse of each other, thus clearly indicating the 
presence of a controlling inhibitory conscious element 
in the one case, and its absence in the other. In the 
normal state we must guard against the inhibitory wak- 
ing consciousness, and we must therefore make our sug- 
gestion as indirect as possible. In the abnormal state, 
on the contrary, no circumspection is needed; the con- 
trolling, inhibitory waking consciousness is more or less 
absent, the subwaking reflex consciousness is exposed 
to external stimuli, and our suggestions, therefore, are 
the more effective the more direct we make them."* 

Communication between the conscious and subcon- 
scious mind is more or less continuous. All experiences 
of the conscious are registered as memories in the sub- 
conscious. In our waking state we make many sug- 

* Psychology of Suggestion, 89. 

[248] 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS 

gestions to the subconscious: that we shall wake at a 
given hour, that we shall succeed in a certain interview, 
that we shall break down, that we shall feel pain, that 
we shall be free from pain. The conscious self im- 
poses many inhibitions on the subconscious, as remarked 
above. 

Still more numerous are the communications from 
the subconscious to the conscious: as revived memories, 
as automatic movements, as sensory inhibitions or stim- 
uli, as post-hypnotic suggestions, as emotions, manias, 
hallucinations, as problems solved or stories written, 
as motives changed and characters altered. At other 
times, when the conscious mind is distracted or 
in abeyance, the subconscious may carry out its own 
suggestions. 

Sidis, following Liebault, who made a special study 
of hypnotism and crime, claims that "the subwaking 
self is devoid of all morality; it will steal without the 
least scruple ; it will poison ; it will stab ; it will assassi- 
nate its best friends without the least scruple. When 
completely cut off from the waking person it is pre- 
cluded- from conscience."* 

Later studies have cast doubt on this picture. It is 
a question whether any but trained hypnotic subjects 
will do the things mentioned; they are acting a part, 
just as they would be in stabbing or poisoning a friend 
on the stage. The hypnotic does not surrender con- 
trol; suggestion, to be effective, must become auto-sug- 
gestion. It is doubtful if the conscious and the sub' 

* I'd., 295. 

[H9] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

conscious can be separated as sharply as Sidis would 
have us believe. Much of the activity of "the con- 
science" goes on below the threshold. The subcon- 
scious is a large, perhaps the largest, element in our 
normal training in morals. Again, the secondary per- 
sonality accidentally or deliberately evolved from the 
subconscious is quite apt to be an improvement. Espe- 
cially is this the case where a third or fourth person- 
ality appears, apparently from a deeper level. Thus 
the melancholy Mary Reynolds becomes gay and 
flighty in her secondary personality; in her third and 
final stage she is described as becoming "rational, in- 
dustrious, and very cheerful, yet reasonably serious; 
possessed of a well-balanced temperament, and not hav- 
ing the slightest indication of an injured or disturbed 
mind."* Dr. Bramwell says of hypnotics: "Any 
changes in the moral sense have invariably been for the 
better, the hypnotized subject evincing superior refine- 
ment."! But we as yet know too little about the 
subconscious to discuss its morals. 

Much the same things may be said as to the intelli- 
gence of the subconscious, which is rated low by Sidis 
and others. Because of its inclusive memory, our sub- 
conscious mind is largely a rubbish heap, and many 
public exhibitions of it resemble the work of a rag- 
picker. But in the thought-life of the average man, 
not to speak of the genius or the prodigy, a large and 
important part goes on below the threshold. The per- 

* James, Psychology, I, 383. 
t Myers, I, 517. 

[250] 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS 

fectly-trained mind is the one which commands the full 
resources of the subconscious. The mental work done 
in sleep or hypnosis is often superior to that of our wak- 
ing hours. The subconscious mind may not be capable 
of induction or argument. But one hesitates to criti- 
cize the intelligence which can write Stevenson's stories, 
reply to Hayne, or solve a difficult problem in paleogra- 
phy. The subconscious possesses a remarkable power of 
calculating the passage of time. Its discriminating at- 
tention is shown in many ways, notably by the hypno- 
tized nurses in Dr. Forel's asylum. "The nurse's bed is 
placed at the side of the patient's, and the suggestion is 
given that she shall sleep well and hear nothing except 
any unusual sound the patient may make. If the latter 
atempts to get out of bed, or to do herself any harm, 
the nurse awakes at once, otherwise she sleeps soundly, 
despite the unimportant noises and movements made 
by the patient."* In the subconscious, as we know it, 
almost any power of the senses or of the mind may be 
heightened, if the proper impression is made on the 
subject. 

A question of great importance is the relation of the 
subconscious mind to the physical organism. The sub- 
conscious can do everything that the conscious mind is 
capable of, in the control of fingers, limbs, etc., and 
generally do it better; the somnambulist furnishes 
a good example. It can do many things which are im- 
possible for the conscious will. On this depends the 
value of suggestion in therapeutics. The subconscious 

* See Myers I, 512. 

[251] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

is able to inhibit many reflexes, such, for example, as 
those ordinarily following an odor, taste, touch or pain. 
The secretion of certain glands is known to be under 
its control. The temperature of the body or its parts 
may be raised or lowered by suggestion. The subcon- 
scious controls the circulation of blood to given parts 
of the skin, causing blisters or hemorrhage, as in the 
many cases of stigmatization. Similarly, hemorrhages 
may be stopped through suggestion, and various skin 
diseases cured — for example, eczema. One of Del- 
boeuf 's cases illustrates both this control of the circu- 
lation and the usual subconscious method of producing 
insensibility to pain, through the diversion of attention 
rather than by the deadening of the nerves. A young 
woman was hypnotized and told that she would feel 
no pain in her right arm. "Each arm was then burnt 
with a red-hot bar of iron, 8 mm. in diameter, the 
extent and duration of its application being the same 
in both, but pain being felt in the left arm alone. The 
burns were bandaged and J. was sent to bed. During 
the night the pain in the left arm continued, and next 
morning there was a wound on it, 3 cm. in diameter, 
with an outer circle of inflamed blisters. On the right 
there was only a defined eschar, the exact size of the 
iron and without inflammation or redness. The day 
following the left arm was still more painful and 
inflamed; analgesia was then successfully suggested, 
when the wound soon dried and the inflammation 
disappeared."* 

* See Myers, I, 470. 

[252] 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS 

The fact that the range of the senses may be greatly 
increased in the subconscious state suggests the possi- 
bility of new and hitherto unsuspected powers of sense. 
Thus the hypnotic can distinguish between different 
people present in a room, possibly recognizing them by 
smell as certain animals would do. Similarly, we have 
"rose asthma," and the sense of a cat in the room. Pro- 
fessor Barrett has made a careful study of the so-called 
"divining rod," and proved that there exists in many 
persons a sensitiveness to running water in proxim- 
ity.* A sensitiveness to magnets has not yet been 
established, though there is some evidence for it. The 
somnambulist sometimes has a sense of locality almost 
resembling that of the carrier pigeon. 

Turning to more doubtful cases, we have Fontan's 
careful experiments on a hypnotized sailor at Toulon. 
He was blindfolded and told he could see only with his 
fingers; any other part would probably have served 
the same dramatic purpose. But the patient was 
actually able to distinguish letters, colors and pictures.t 
No lens was available for the act of seeing. Appar- 
ently this is a case either of telepathy (see section / 
below), where the patient read the operator's mind, or 
of a power of perception independent of our usual sense 
organs. In many cases of trance, there seems to be a 
knowledge of facts or distant scenes which cannot 
be explained even by telepathy. But the evidence for 
second sight is still anecdotal rather than experimental. 

* See Proceedings S. P. R., XIII, 2 ff; XV, 130 #. 
tW., V, 263. 

[253] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

(f) Telepathy. Evidence has been accumulating 
for the possibility of communication between one mind 
and another without the use of the ordinary channels 
of sense. The opening up of this rich field, long aban- 
doned to superstition and fraud, has been due to Ed- 
mund Gurney and the remarkable group of observers 
associated with him in the Society for Psychical 
Research. 

Repeated experiments have shown that simple sen- 
sations such as tastes and pains may be transferred by 
telepathy with a fair degree of accuracy. The same 
is true of visual images, such as numbers or letters. In 
a series of experiments carried on by Mr. Guthrie of 
Liverpool, two young ladies being used as percipients, 
in three hundred and eighty-seven cases out of four 
hundred and fifty-seven something was perceived. The 
descriptions of three hundred and nineteen of these 
were wholly or partially correct.* 

An experiment by Dr. Thomas Jay Hudson may be 
taken as an illustration. He caused himself to be 
blindfolded in the presence of his family and two or 
three trustworthy friends, and "instructed them to 
draw a card from the pack, place it upon a table, face 
up, and in full view of all but myself. I enjoined abso- 
lute silence, and requested them to gaze steadily upon 
the card and patiently await results. I determined not 
to yield to any mere mental impression, but to watch 
for a vision of the card itself. I endeavored to become 
as passive as possible, and to shut out all objective 

* Frank Podmore, Thought-transference, 1894, p. 33. 

[ 254 ] 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS 

thoughts. In fact, I tried to go to sleep. I soon found 
that the moment I approached a state of somnolency 
I began to see visions of self-illuminated objects float- 
ing in the darkness before me. If, however, one 
seemed to be taking definite shape it would instantly 
rouse me, and the vision would vanish. At length I 
mastered my curiosity sufficiently to enable me to hold 
the vision long enough to perceive its import. When 
that was accomplished, I saw — not a card with its spots 
clearly defined, but a number of objects arranged in 
rows and resembling real diamonds. I was finally able 
to count them, and finding that there were ten, I ven- 
tured to name the ten of diamonds. The applause which 
followed told me that I was right, and I removed the 
bandage and found the ten of diamonds lying on the 
table. The vision was symbolical, merely, but no pos- 
sible symbol could have conveyed a clearer idea of the 
fact as it existed."* 

Telepathy is even more successful in hypnosis. 
Thus, in the transference of pain, we may quote a 
series of trials conducted by Gurney and others on the 
evening of January 4th, 1883. A youth named Wells 
was hypnotized by Mr. G. A. Smith. Wells was 
blindfolded, and Mr. Smith stood behind his chair, 
holding one of his hands. 

"1. The upper part of Mr. Smith's right arm was 
pinched continuously. Wells, after an interval of 
about two minutes, began to rub the corresponding part 
on his own body. 

* Evolution of the Soul, 188. 

[ 255 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

"2. Back of the neck pinched. Same result. 
"3. Calf of left leg slapped. Same result. 
"4. Lobe of left ear pinched. Same result. 
"5. Outside of left wrist pinched. Same result. 
"6. Upper part of back slapped. Same result. 
"7. Hair pulled. Wells localized the pain on his 
left arm. 

"8. Right shoulder slapped. The corresponding 
part was correctly indicated. 

"9. Outside of left wrist pricked. Same result. 
"10. Back of neck pricked. Same result. 
"11. Left toe trodden on. No indication given. 
"12. Left ear pricked. The corresponding part was 
correctly indicated. 
"13. Back of left shoulder slapped. Same result. 
"14. Calf of right leg pinched. Wells touched his 
arm. 

"15. Inside of left wrist pricked. The corresponding 
part was correctly indicated. 
"16. Neck below right ear pricked. Same result."* 
The evidence for telepathy at a distance is less com- 
plete, but still fairly satisfactory. Janet and Gilbert 
tried to induce hypnosis at a distance. Out of twenty- 
five trials on the same patient, eighteen were a com- 
plete success and four others partial or doubtful. f In 
a second series of thirty-five experiments, sixteen were 
successful and two doubtful. Striking results have 
been obtained by other workers. Hudson claimed 



* Podmore, op. cit., 60. 
fid., 112. 



[256] 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS 

great success in the treatment of disease by telepathic 
suggestion.* 

Some successful attempts have been made to cause 
hallucinations, in most cases an image of the operator 
himself. An experiment by Rev. Clarence Godfrey 
will illustrate this. On a certain evening he deter- 
mined to appear if possible to a friend, "and accord- 
ingly I set myself to work with all the volitional and 
determinative energy which I possess, to stand at the 
foot of her bed." No hint had been given to the lady. 
His efforts continued for perhaps eight minutes, after 
which he felt tired and went to sleep. Next morning 
at 3 140 he met the lady in a dream. The account 
written by the lady herself is as follows: "Yesterday 
about half-past three o'clock, I woke up with a start 
and an idea that some one had come into the room. I 
heard a curious sound, but fancied it might be the birds 
in the ivy outside. Next I experienced a strange rest- 
less longing to leave the room and go downstairs. . . . 
On returning to my room I saw Mr. Godfrey standing 
under the large window on the staircase. He was 
dressed in his usual style, and with an expression on 
his face that I have noticed when he has been looking 
very earnestly at anything. He stood there, and I 
held up the candle and gazed at him for three or four 
seconds in utter amazement, and then, as I passed up 
the staircase, he disappeared." Two out of three ex- 
periments of the same sort were successful. t 

* Law of Psychic Phenomena, 191 ff. More than a hun- 
dred experiments were made. 
t Podmore, 228. 

[257] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

The Society's records are rilled with cases of sponta- 
neous hallucinations, generally perceived by a single 
individual, though sometimes by two or more persons. 
In the census undertaken in 1889, questions were put 
to 17,000 normal adults, chosen at random. Practi- 
cally ten per cent (1,684 persons) had experienced 
waking hallucinations. Of these apparitions three hun- 
dred and fifty were recognized as those of living per- 
sons. The proportion of death coincidences, that is, 
apparitions seen within from one to twelve hours of 
the death of the persons visualized, was placed by the 
Society's committee at one in forty-three. As Myers 
puts it: "Since the average annual death-rate in Eng- 
land and Wales is 19.15 per 1,000, the probability that 
any one person taken at random will die on a given day 
is 19.15 in 365,000, or about 1 in 19,000. This may 
be taken as the general probability that he will die on 
the day on which his apparition is seen and recognized, 
supposing that there is no casual connection between 
the apparition and the death. In other words, out of 
every 19,000 apparitions of living persons there should 
be by chance one death coincidence. But the actual 
proportion found, viz., 1 in 43, is equal to about 440 
in 19,000, or 440 times the most probable number. 
. . . This is the case if we take, as we have done, 
death coincidences to mean an apparition occurring 
within twelve hours of the death of the person seen. 
But the great majority of the coincidences are believed 
by the percipients to be closer than this, and the im- 
probability of the apparition occurring by chance within 

[258] 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS 

an hour of the death is of course twelve times as 
great."* 

The simplest explanation of these phenomena is 
that which considers them as cases of telepathic com- 
munication between the dying persons and the percipi- 
ents. The same explanation may be given to "ghosts" 
and to clairvoyance. 

We as yet know little about the conditions under 
which telepathy operates. It seems to be connected 
with the subconscious portion of our mental life. 
Communication is most frequent between those allied 
by ties of blood or friendship, but it is possible between 
mere acquaintances and even between strangers. As 
in hypnotism, the idea or image transmitted may re- 
main for a considerable time below the threshold of 
consciousness, until sleep or other favorable circum- 
stances bring it to the surface. 

Let us glance a moment at clairvoyance. Either 
through dreams or by gazing at a piece of crystal or a 
similar object which serves to focus the hallucination, 
or through a trance of some sort, the medium is able 
to give facts or pictures of which she (I am thinking 
of Mrs. Piper) could have no previous knowledge. 
Sometimes these facts are evidently extracted from the 
subconscious minds of the persons present. Occasion- 
ally the information conveyed by "Phinuit" or some 
other control appears to transcend the knowledge even 
of those in the room. It might be conveyed telepath- 
ically to the sitter by some one at a distance, and by 

* Myers, I, 573. 

[259] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

him to the medium. There is no valid reason for con- 
sidering "Phinuit" and the rest as spirits from another 
world. Again I must appeal to the law of parsimony. 
The facts supply their own explanation — a telepathic 
one. That explanation is entirely satisfactory as a 
working hypothesis. To seek another and more elab- 
orate explanation is logical extravagance. 



[ 260 ] 



CHAPTER XV 

A NEW DEFINITION OF PERSONALITY 

WHAT is personality? This is the next philo- 
sophical problem we must face. In a previous 
section I referred briefly to organic personality, the 
unity of the individual organism. Professor Loeb and 
others have made a good deal of the segmental charac- 
ter of the vertebrate nervous system, and the fact that 
each segment continues to be a more or less independ- 
ent unit. "It will perhaps make our task easier," he 
says, "if we conceive the segmented animal to be a 
colony of as many individuals or animals as there are 
segments (or ganglia) present in the body. Each seg- 
ment is then comparable to an Ascidian in which the 
central nervous system consists of but one ganglion. 
The fibers and cells of each ganglion form for the cor- 
responding segment a protoplasmic bridge between the 
skin and muscles. A stimulation beginning, however, 
in one segment is not confined to that segment, for 
the single ganglia of the various segments are connected 
with each other by means of nerve-fibers, the so-called 
longitudinal commissures. By means of these, a stim- 
ulation which originates in one segment is transmitted 
also to the neighboring ganglia and from these to those 
farther away, until at last it reaches the end of the 
animal."* According to this theory the brain is simply 
* Comparative Physiology, 82. 

[261] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

a segmental ganglion, not an organ of a higher order 
that regulates and guides the activity of the other 
ganglia. 

Important as this idea is in the study both of organs 
and functions, it must not be carried farther than the 
facts warrant. The higher vertebrate is something 
more than a colony of segments. It is an organism, a 
biological unit. No single "metamere" can live apart 
from the others. Portions of the original segments have 
been transferred, fused, eliminated, specialized.* The 
skeleton, skin and tissue are organized to serve the 
entire body. The various parts of the body are served 
by the same fluids, formed and circulated by specialized 
segmental organs. The organism is integrated still 
more through the development and training of the 
nervous system. Certain segments, through their spe- 
cialization as the ganglion of the distance-receptors, 
come to initiate those reflex movements by which the 
organism is poised or operated as a whole. t 

The loss of a segment from the human body is sim- 
ply the loss of a group of cells which may be more or 
less essential to the mechanism. The segmental char- 
acter of the nervous system has about as little bearing 
on the problem of personality as the segmental charac- 
ter of a railway train or a modern office building. 
Where there is a complete machine* at the service of 
the mind, we find it capable of discharging certain 
mechanical functions. For practical purposes, the myr- 

* Cf. Enc. Brit., art. Metamerism. 

f Cf. Sherrington, Nervous System, 314 ff. 

[262] 



A NEW DEFINITION OF. PERSONALITY 

iad cells act as a unit and not merely as Individuals, 
or as parts of organs or segments. This unity does not 
reside in any one segment, but in the organism as a 
whole, or in such portion of the organism as is able to 
maintain life. The dead organism ceases to be a unit, 
in the biological sense, or, to speak more strictly, breaks 
up into a number of temporary units — that is, into or- 
gans and cells. Parts of the body may live for a con- 
siderable period after the body as such is dead. 

A number of lines of evidence point to the fact that 
the biological unity of the human organism is essen- 
tially a psychical unity. There is first the evidence 
(summarized in Chapter XIII) that the mental or- 
ganizes and controls the physical. Second, we have 
seen that the integration of the human body, as a ma- 
chine for doing work, is due chiefly to the reflexes 
started in the cerebral hemispheres, with which portion 
of the brain consciousness is specially associated. 
Third, in the constant renewal of the organism such 
psychological phenomena as memory, self-consciousness, 
etc., while making use of the mechanism of nerve-cells, 
may outlast several generations of nerve-cells, or at 
least the recasting of their physical materials. I have 
not the same body which I had in my eighth year — it 
is doubtful if any particle of it is the same — but I still 
remember a scene that occurred in my eighth year. 

What can we say about this psychical unity, on 
which the unity of the living organism seems to de- 
pend? Until within a few years the answer would 
have been substantially that of Descartes: "I think, 

[263] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

therefore I am." A distinct human personality in each 
organism is evidenced by memory, self-consciousness, 
the sense of personal identity. Today it would per- 
haps be more correct to say: "I am subconscious, there- 
fore I am." What have we learned through our study 
of the abnormal? What changes is it necessary to 
make in the classic picture of the ego? A new conti- 
nent has been discovered, but it is little explored. We 
know just enough to serve as a warning against hasty 
generalizations. 

It is evident that the "person" of the older psychol- 
ogy remains a fact, a fact with which philosophy must 
reckon. Our description of the abnormal did not ne- 
cessitate any revision of our chapter on the normal. In 
our waking hours, from early childhood to the grave 
(or as long as we continue normal), we are conscious: 
of many bodily processes, of objects discovered through 
our distance-receptors, of many of our mental states; 
we are able to control our muscles, to experiment, 
feel, learn, think, accomplish ; we can recall experiences 
that have come to us through a long series of years, and 
identify them as belonging to the past of our own 
selves. This waking "personality" appears to be man's 
most distinguishing characteristic, shared only to a very 
limited extent by lower species. It is associated partic- 
ularly with the specialization of the upper brain as the 
ganglion of the distance-receptors. Consciousness is 
directly dependent on the blood supply of the brain. It 
is this personality which gives the charm to social inter- 
course, which is at the basis of accountability in ethics 

[ 264 ] 



A NEW DEFINITION OF PERSONALITY 

and law. The frequent interruptions of consciousness 
seldom interrupt the continuity of the conscious life. 

At the same time this person or ego is not as fixed 
a quantity as we used to think. It is slowly evolved in 
childhood, subject to constant modification during 
youth and maturity, and generally enters on a process 
of degeneration after middle age. During sleep — that 
is during at least one-third of the individual's life — its 
activities are suspended; the ego of the older psychol- 
ogy is practically non-existent. The same condition 
may be brought about by artificial means. Even in 
waking hours the ego is largely at the mercy of the 
subconscious. In extreme cases, the waking personality 
undergoes a sudden and complete change. Two dis- 
tinct personalities may alternate, as in the case of 
Felida X, or may even coexist and struggle for the 
mastery, as in the case of "The Misses Beauchamp," 
described by Dr. Morton Prince. Which should we 
call the ego — the original Miss Beauchamp, or the 
Miss B. who appeared after a nervous shock in 1893, 
or the somnambulistic "B. II," or the tyrant Sally, or 
the "B. IV" who appeared, Rip-van-Winkle-like, in 
1899 through a reintegrating shock, or the composite 
of "B. I" and "B. IV" formed by suggestions given 
to "B. II"? 

Such rival egos in the waking state are rare. In the 
subconscious they are of frequent occurrence. Janet's 
experiments with hypnotics show us personality in the 
making. The patient will act a part suggested; at 
another session the part will be taken up again, until 

[265] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

a distinct personality is formed, which, under favorable 
circumstances, might emerge as a secondary Felida or 
a Sally Beauchamp. Thus Mme. B., ordinarily known 
as Leonie, becomes Leontine in the hypnotic state, a 
very different character. "Mme. B. has been so often 
hypnotized, and during so many years, that Leontine 
has by this time acquired a very considerable stock of 
memories which Mme. B. does not share. Leontine, 
therefore, counts, as properly belonging to her own his- 
tory and not to Mme. B.'s, all the events which have 
taken place while Mme. B.'s normal self was hypno- 
tized into unconsciousness. . . . Mme. B., in the nor- 
mal state, has a husband and children. Leontine, 
speaking in the somnambulistic trance, attributes the 
husband to 'the other' (Mme. B.), but attributes the 
children to herself. ... At last I learnt that her 
former mesmerizers had induced somnambulism at the 
time of her accouchements ; Leontine, therefore, was 
quite right in attributing the children to herself; the 
rule of partition was unbroken, and the somnambulism 
was characterized by a duplication of the subject's 
existence."* Leontine, in turn, has an unconscious 
stratum. Out of this emerges in time a third person- 
ality, Leonore, who gives good advice to both the 
others and remembers the experiences of both. 

Two things are clear, it seems to me. The first is 
that personality, in the sense to which we have been 
accustomed — the consciousness of the self, the sense 

* Revue Philosophique, March, 1888, quoted by Myers, I, 
322 #. 

[266] 



A NEW DEFINITION OF PERSONALITY 

of personal identity, the memory of past experiences of 
the same self, — is the playing of a part. This is cer- 
tainly true of Leontine, of the secondary Felida, of 
Sally Beauchamp. It seems to be equally true of the 
ordinary waking personality. Waking recollection, for 
instance, is merely a selection by the conscious person- 
ality of material appropriate to the part it is playing. 
Mme. B. knows only her waking experiences as a 
rather stupid peasant woman, nothing of the experi- 
ences of the clever Leontine. The longer we play a 
part the more definite and full it becomes. Ordina- 
rily, for two-thirds of the time, this part is that of the 
waking self, which, by making use of the distance- 
receptors, adjusts itself more or less successfully to the 
physical and social environment of the organism. 

Second, personality evidently must be given a 
broader meaning. Better still, some broader term 
should be used to include both the conscious and sub- 
conscious mental life of the individual. Almost any 
term is open to objection, but I choose "mind" as the 
word least likely to involve us in entangling alliances. 

What can we say of the human mind, in this broad 
but definite sense ? It includes all the life of the wak- 
ing personality, and vastly more. Its memory is the 
encyclopaedia memory of the subconscious. Apparently 
nothing once fixed is ever lost, although our knowledge 
along this line is still meager. The power of waking 
recollection diminishes with old age. It would be im- 
portant to determine whether the same is true of (sub- 
conscious) memory, or whether, as seems probable 

[267] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

from superficial observation, this continues unimpaired 
as long as the organism holds together. I do not 
know of any scientific studies of old age, from this 
standpoint. 

The life of the mind is continuous. It is not dis- 
tracted and interrupted, like the life, of the waking per- 
son. It never sleeps, except possibly during a state of 
coma: In fact the mind is in some ways most active 
during what we call sleep. 

The mind sometimes appears like an ungoverned 
flood of memories, images, thoughts, feelings. Some- 
times a part of the current is divided into one or more 
personalities; memories, etc., are specialized for a dis- 
tinct task; the stream flows through a channel of neu- 
rones and synapses as through a mill-race. But 
controlling both the flood and the mill-race, like a force 
of gravitation, appears an underlying unity. Thus the 
mind, even when unconscious, solves problems, forms 
images, acts parts. Whatever may appear in a given 
personality, for dramatic purposes, innumerable expe- 
riences have produced a unity of mental habit. Thus 
the devout Roman Catholic is kept from sacrilege, even 
in the hypnotic state, and the modest woman from 
sticking out her tongue or disrobing. In cases of di- 
vided personality there appears to be a deeper common 
stratum to which the mental healer is able to appeal. 
Beneath the old Mr. Hanna and the secondary Mr. 
Hanna was a mind which formed a common vehi- 
cle for suggestion. So with Mary Reynolds in 
her three characters. Most suggestive of all is Dr. 

[268] 



A NEW DEFINITION OF PERSONALITY 

Janet's Leonore, emerging from the subconscious below 
the subconscious. 

I referred a few pages back to the apparent identity 
of psychical and biological unity. Another evidence of 
this may now be given. Mind controls not only the 
muscles utilized by the waking personality, but also 
muscles governing blood-circulation, and hence metab- 
olism. Even in our waking hours we have "involun- 
tary" blushes, tears and sweat. In sleep, the cerebral 
hemispheres being comparatively at rest, the lower 
nerve-centers are more readily utilized. The body is 
remarkably subject to suggestion, a fact made use 
of by the mental healer. The recuperative value of 
sleep may be, as Myers suggests, in the increased 
attention which the mind is able to give to organic 
processes. 

It seems safe to conclude that the mind accompany- 
ing and controlling the human organism is an individ- 
ual for philosophy, as well as for law and for practical 
life. When does this individual begin its existence? 
If mind is what it appears to be, only a specialized form 
of life, a new mind would begin with the starting of a 
new organism on the union of ovum and spermato- 
zoon. This is borne out by the fact that temperament 
and other mental traits are apt to be inherited from 
the parents. Prenatal memory is, in my opinion, not 
yet established as a scientific fact.* A priori, influence 
of the mother's mind on that of the babe is exceedingly 
probable, but we are not dealing with the a priori. 

* Cf. discussion in J. Arthur Thomson, Heredity, 1908. 

[269] 



THE UXFOLDIXG UNIVERSE 

:iic memory does not seem to exist except for the 
poets. 

If uterine conception is the probable terminus a quo 
of the mind, can we assign any terminus ad quern f 
The individual appears to break up at death, like the 
physical organism with which it has been associated. 
But there are a number of facts which warn us that 
this dissolution of mind may be merely apparent. The 
mind is not a physical machine ; it is that which organ- 
izes and controls the machine. The mind is to a cer- 
tain extent independent of the condition of the organ- 
ism ; it may be most active in invalids, during sleep, or 
when we are physically tired. Again mind lives and 
works after the conscious personality-, because of some 
neurone disturbance or degeneration, has practically 
ceased to be. We see this in insanity and idiocy, 
where muscular control and other mental powers are 
oiten above the normal. 

So-called spirit-possession and communication may 
be explained on other grounds. Second sight, although 
probable, has not yet been proved. But telepathy, 
:h 1 consider already established, suggests a striking 
independence of the physical. Ideas, images and feel- 
ings may be transferred from one mind to another 
without making use of any known physical medium. 
Distance seems to make no difference. To use a rather 
dangerous analog} - , telepathic communications appear 
like wireless messages, which may be detected by any 
one. even a stranger, who happens to be "in tune." 

An accumulation of evidence shows that telepathic 

[270] 



A NEW DEFINITION OF PERSONALITY 

messages are most frequently sent when death is ap- 
proaching or threatening. Gurney, in his Phantasms 
of the Living, describes one hundred and thirty-four 
cases where the hallucination occurred at the time of 
death, or within an hour. Thirty-eight occurred more 
than an hour before the death of the person seen, but 
during his serious illness, thirty-nine occurred after 
death but within less than twelve hours, while one 
hundred and four were closely associated with death, 
though it was not know T n w T hether they occurred before 
or after. Hallucinations involving longer intervals 
were not included. Known cases of apparition in 
crises are almost as numerous. The mind seems to be 
particularly active at the time of death. Altogether, 
I think there is a strong presumption that the mind 
survives the dissolution of the body, rather than the 
reverse. Presumptions, however, are not good building 
material for philosophy. 

We are evidently getting near the end of our rope 
again. The same limitation confronts us as in biology. 
Induction fails, because the facts are incomplete. 
Mind is a certain side of the life of a higher organism 
taken as a whole; or, if you please, it is organic life 
observed from a new angle. What mind is in itself, 
apart from organism, and w T hether there is any mind 
not connected with a brain and nervous system, are 
questions for which we have as yet no solvent. 

We know that there is mind in the universe. By 
mind, to analyze the concept, we mean the individual 
minds associated with organisms on this planet, and 

[271 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

such other mind or minds as may exist under other 
conditions. 

We know that, at a certain period in the history of 
the universe, mind became localized in terrestrial or- 
ganisms. The minds of these organisms, acting upon 
and being acted on by their environment, came, through 
a vast series of mutations, to be represented by the 
human species. Man has not changed to any great 
extent during 400,000 years or more, and no higher 
organism is to be expected on the earth.* But al- 
though man represents a highly-perfected adjustment 
of mind to a physical environment, the subconscious 
field gives frequent suggestion of powers not realized by 
the organism in its waking state. Mind does not seem 
to have reached ^ its full possibilities. 

We know that the organism, and to some extent the 
outside physical world, is under the control of mind. 

Does psychology teach us anything more? Mind, 
as we know it and are able to study it, always comes 
from some preexisting mind. By analogy, there is 
mind back of the first appearance of life on this planet. 

* The principal evidence for this statement may be thus 
summarized: 1. The anthropoidea represent a highly-special- 
ized type; the generalized types from which new species 
would be likely to arise have disappeared. 2. The golden 
age of the anthropoidea, aside from man, is in the distant 
past. 3. Man now dominates organic evolution in all parts 
of the earth. 4. Man represents largely the specialization 
of the upper brain, and any further enlargement of this 
would cut off the nasal cavity from the throat. 5. Evidence 
has already been given that man cannot rise higher except 
through education, every child (with some allowance for 
selection and eugenics) starting at practically the same 
level. 

[272] 



A NEW DEFINITION OF PERSONALITY 

Such non-organic, cosmic mind may be presumed to 
exist today, if it existed then. It may or may not re- 
semble the mind which has developed in connection 
with organism. Communication is easily possible be- 
tween such cosmic mind, if it exists, and the mind of 
man, as we see from telepathy, from personal influ- 
ence, from hypnotic rapport. But what we lack, thus 
far in our enquiry, is the definite evidence of such 
communication. Proof of the existence, or the non- 
existence, of God is beyond the scope of psychology. 

Is mind as such independent of space and time? 
Thus far we do not know mind as such, but telepathy 
suggests that, when we do, it will be found independ- 
ent of space — that is of relations measured by means 
of light-rays. Mind is known to possess a remarkable 
power of measuring temporal sequences, but the ma- 
chinery for this may be the physical organism, whose 
sequences are measurable. 



[273] 



CHAPTER XVI 

THE HIGHER LIFE OF MAN 

/— ||~ -V HE recent movement known as Pragmatism has 
•** called attention to the increasing richness of real- 
ity due to the coming of man. There was plenty of 
reality in the universe before that, which many careless 
Pragmatists seem to forget. The hills were full of 
minerals. The trees were covered . with fruit, and 
birds sang in their branches. But with the coming of 
man the minerals and the fruit and the bird-calls 
acquired a new value. And that value — the judgment 
of value in men's minds — was as much a part of reality 
as the gold or the apples or the music. Man's mind, 
reacting to the physical world, added something that 
the physical world alone never would have possessed. 
The net result has been the continued development of 
the world of reality, as man took to mining gold and 
making ornaments of it, or to eating apples and culti- 
vating new varieties, or to rivalling with his own voice 
the lark or the veery. Even if man became extinct, and 
no such mental life was ever known again, this planet 
would have added a wonderful closed chapter to the 
story of the universe — a tale of ideas about things, of 
the adaptation of things to definite ends, of the devel- 
opment in things of a complexity, a harmony, a utility, 
a beauty, elsewhere unknown on the same scale. 

[274] 



THE HIGHER LIFE OF MAN 

With the rise of man as a distinct species, human 
evolution became predominantly psychical. The differ- 
ences between races and individuals are chiefly those 
of education, in the broad sense. We have seen that 
there is no real difference in educability between the 
savage and the civilized child. If taken young enough 
and placed in primitive surroundings, the civilized 
child would grow up a savage, with simple ideas and 
comparatively simple brain development. Conversely, 
the savage child would grow up to be a civilized man, 
with complex ideas, and with a somewhat more com- 
plex and probably larger brain. 

The evolution of society therefore is not organic, 
except as its units have been human organisms. It con- 
sists rather of the accumulation of ideas in individual 
minds and in their transmission from one mind to an- 
other. It is the evolution of an environment that is 
fundamentally psychical. What we know as civiliza- 
tion is simply the accumulated experience of the race. 
The civilized child enters on a richer heritage of ideas, 
represented by spoken and written language, by books, 
by schools and apprenticeships, by buildings and arts 
and machines, by customs and institutions. A book or 
a machine would be of no value to the savage. 
It is of value to civilized man only as the ideas 
which have entered into its making again become 
ideas in some living mind. The simplest tool is a 
psychical even more than a physical product. It rep- 
resents the mental experience of many generations of 
men. 

[275] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

Recent studies in historical sociology have been 
fruitful in proportion as they have recognized 
this truth and adopted the psychological rather 
than the biological method of approach. We are talk- 
ing less about society as an organism — the only organ- 
isms are organisms — and more about the personal units 
which together make up the "social mind." Social 
causes and processes are still debatable ground and per- 
haps always will be. But many facts of social evolu- 
tion are now fairly well established. We may first 
sketch the different stages through which human so- 
ciety is known to have passed. 

(a) The Horde. Man, as we have seen, is natu- 
rally social — even more so than the other primates. 
The human species probably originated as a horde, 
or multiplicity of hordes, and this is the most primitive 
form of society today. Each horde "is composed of a 
few families, and comprises usually not more than from 
twenty-five to one hundred persons. No such horde is 
found living beyond the reach of communication with 
other similar hordes of the same race, language, and 
culture. Under the influence of excitement or fear, 
or to share an unusual food supply, or for the purpose 
of migration, such hordes may temporarily congregate 
in large numbers. But they do not permanently com- 
bine with one another under the leadership of a com- 
mon chief for military or political action, nor is there 
any organization, religious or industrial for example, 
that binds them together in a larger whole."* The 

* Giddings, Principles of Sociology, 157. 

[276] 






THE HIGHER LIFE OF MAN 

practical mental equipment common to the population 
of the horde includes: experience gained in testing 
various articles of food, adornment and perhaps dress 
and various means of shelter; simple ideas of utility, 
satisfaction, wealth and personal property; knowledge 
of how to make and use fire and some simple tools and 
weapons; the development of natural human speech 
into a definite language; ideas of common territory, of 
leadership and allegiance, of kinship; the ideas of self, 
of spirit, of friendly or unfriendly spirits present in the 
world. 

(b) The second important stage (leaving out vari- 
ous stages which are transitional) is that represented 
by the Metronymic Tribe. This is a very much larger 
group, closely organized and occupying a definite ter- 
ritory. The change, however brought about, indicates 
an advance in food supply and probably the addition of 
agriculture, with considerable improvement in tools, 
weapons and arts. There are an expansion of lan- 
guage and a greater stock of traditions, stories and 
reflections. Relationship is reckoned only through the 
mother. The tribe is divided by kinship into clans, 
often named from some totem — usually an animal or 
plant — from which the clan is supposed to be descended 
and with which it cultivates relations. Marriage 
within the same clan would be regarded as incest. The 
husband lives with his wife's kindred. Each clan has 
its governing council with its peace sachem and war 
chief. All this implies definite ideas of justice, order 
and cooperation. The tribe, essentially a military unit, 

[277] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

also has a council. There may be a third organization, 
the phratry, composed of several related clans, and hav- 
ing oversight of religious exercises and also of sports. 
Life is still on a communal basis and the individual 
is subordinated to the community. Metronymic tribes 
often unite in permanent military confederations, as in 
the case of the Iroquois. 

(c) The Patronymic Tribe may arise from the met- 
ronymic tribe or directly from the horde. There is the 
same or greater economic advance than in the last 
stage. The patronymic tribe is usually connected with 
the domestication of animals and the increased eco- 
nomic value of women and children. The husband 
keeps one or more wives in his home. Relationship is 
reckoned through fathers, and the authority of the 
father becomes paramount. A supposed common an- 
cestor takes the place of the plant or animal totem. 
The (paternal) clan is now practically identical with 
the village or the neighborhood community. The tribe 
is much more compact in its organization, with a head 
chief. Clan and tribal offices tend to become heredi- 
tary. Wealth is likely to become concentrated in a 
few families, which are thus able to keep slaves and 
retainers. Personal allegiance becomes stronger than 
kinship. 

id) The Patronymic Confederation. "Under the 
pressure of a common danger or inspired by a com- 
mon ambition, patronymic tribes of the same 
racial stock, dwelling within a territory of geo- 
graphical unity, unite in military confederations 

[278] 



THE HIGHER LIFE OF MAN 

that are more coherent, more formidable, and more 
stable than the strongest of metronymic confed- 
erations. A patronymic confederation is a folk or peo- 
ple, and it may develop into a great civil state. The 
Egyptians, the Chaldeans, the Hebrews, the Greeks, 
the Romans, the Saxons, the Franks, the Germans, and 
the Slavs were tribally organized peoples, which, by 
subsequent growth and integration, developed into na- 
tional states. Each of those peoples began its ethnical 
career in an environment of such extent and of such 
geographical unity as to make the growth of a single 
society of large numbers and of considerable dispersion 
easily possible, and of such varied productiveness as to 
stimulate desire, inventiveness, and activity. It cannot 
be supposed that the territory occupied by any of those 
peoples was populated by descendants of a single small 
horde. It is more probable that the ethnical unity was 
the result of an assimilation of many diverse tribal ele- 
ments which, attracted by a superior environment, 
came together in the course of their wanderings."* 
The confederation once formed, there springs up the 
idea of a common ancestor for all the tribes. The 
chieftaincy becomes the kingship, and the organization 
of society is more or less feudal. The confederation 
usually enters on a career of migration or conquest, 
partly for the sake of plunder, partly to secure a subject 
population for agricultural labor. 

The further development of the race during the his- 
torical period continues to be chiefly psychical. Prog- 

* Id., 296. 

[279] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

ress has been due to new ideas, or to greater accumula- 
tion of ideas from past experience. It has not been 
due to natural selection. Benjamin Kidd is certainly 
mistaken in his statement that "left to himself, this 
high-born creature, whose progress we seem to take 
for granted, has not the slightest innate tendency to 
make any onward progress whatever."* It would be 
more true to say that man being what he is, with the 
powers described in our chapter on the human mind, 
it was only a question of time when he would develop 
a culture like that of Southwestern Europe in the late 
Paleolithic Age, or that of Khamurabi's Empire, or 
that of Athens in the time of Pericles. 

The first great civilizations probably developed in 
alluvial plains, such as those about the Nile, the Eu- 
phrates and the Yangtse. A large population could be 
supported in a small territory, permitting the develop- 
ment of public works, such as irrigation, of city centers, 
of manufactures and commerce. Some of the greatest 
advances in arts and institutions, however, were made 
by nations in less favored, often comparatively barren, 
localities, but still in contact with the river civilizations. 
For this the eastern Mediterranean region was pecu- 
liarly favorable, two continents joining in the neighbor- 
hood of Egypt and Babylonia, with a third continent 
not far away. These at first minor nations borrowed 
their culture and then improved on it. The most striking 
instances are the iEgean civilization (roughly 4000 to 
1000 B.C., and possibly indigenous), the military or- 

* Social Evolution, 1895, p. 36. 

[280] 



THE HIGHER LIFE OF MAN 

ganization developed by Assyria, the ethical culture of 
Israel, the work of the Phoenicians in manufactures, 
commerce, navigation and the use of the alphabet, the 
achievements of the Greeks in art and science, and the 
ideas of government — local and imperial — developed 
by Rome. 

The history of civilization, until modern times, is a 
history of the repeated inundation of the civilized na- 
tions by barbarian hordes. The bulk of the population 
remained unchanged. In most cases the new ruling 
class assimilated the culture of the conquered and in- 
fused new life into the old institutions. The most im- 
portant inundation was that which occurred on the 
breaking down of the Roman empire. The old culture 
was so completely buried, and the accumulated experi- 
ence of centuries so far lost, that for a long period its 
recovery seemed doubtful. The crafts, architecture, 
literatures and political institutions of medieval Eu- 
rope were largely new accumulations, though with a 
nucleus of the old. Something of Greek science and 
literature was transmitted by the Saracens. The Re- 
nascence marked the recovery of a large part of the 
buried accumulation. Among the new accessions to 
the common fund from this and the following period 
we may note the introduction of gunpowder into 
Europe early in the fourteenth century, the invention of 
printing about 1439, the discovery of the New World 
in 1492, the recovery by Copernicus, in 1543, of knowl- 
edge of the true position of the earth among the heav- 
enly bodies, the discovery of the circulation of the blood 

[281] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

by Harvey, published in 1628, and the practical utiliza- 
tion of steam by Watt in 1782. 

The invention of the steam engine marks the begin- 
ning of the modern industrial era. The development 
during the last hundred and thirty years has been in- 
comparably rapid. Along all lines, with the possible 
exception of law and some sides of architecture, art 
and letters, man has surpassed anything previously 
known in his cultural history. Science may almost be 
said to begin with the nineteenth century, and our 
knowledge is still increasing at an ever-accelerating 
rate. Scientific agriculture is constantly enabling man 
to produce more from the soil and support a constantly- 
increasing population. Steam transportation has uni- 
fled commercially the various countries of the world 
and the world as a whole. The use of power machines 
and the growth of large factories has enriched and 
cheapened production. That modern civilization is 
an accumulation is seen from the fact that a semi-civil- 
ized nation like Japan has been able in a generation to 
adopt almost the entire culture gathered by modern 
Europe and America. 

The achievements of man in the modern era are not 
due entirely to the introduction of steam. This inven- 
tion itself, the contemporary of others and the forerun- 
ner of many more, must be traced, as Kidd has pointed 
out, to the democratic spirit introduced into the Euro- 
pean environment by the Reformation, and originally 
by the teachings of Jesus. England undoubtedly took 
the lead in invention because opportunity was more 

[282] 



THE HIGHER LIFE OF MAN 

general there than elsewhere. Arkwright, Watt and 
Stephenson, for instance, had a humble origin. One 
started life as a barber, another as apprentice to an 
instrument maker, and the third as a colliery fireman. 
But they had a freedom of initiative, a chance to 
develop their powers, an opportunity for advance 
in the industrial world, which would not have 
been possible to such men born three centuries earlier. 
Some pages of Mr. Kidd's book are well worth 
quoting in this connection. The legislative history 
of the nineteen years since the book was written 
shows a further extension of the movement he 
describes. 

"Throughout the history of the Western peoples 
there is one central fact which underlies all the shifting 
scenes which move across the pages of the historian. 
The political history of the centuries so far may be 
summed up in a single sentence: it is the story of the 
political and the social enfranchisement of the masses 
of the people hitherto universally excluded from par- 
ticipation in the rivalry of existence on terms of equal- 
ity. This change, it is seen, is being accomplished 
against the most prolonged and determined resistance 
at many points, and under innumerable forms, of the 
power-holding classes which obtained under an earlier 
constitution of society the influence which they have 
hitherto, to a large extent, although in gradually dimin- 
ishing measure, continued to enjoy. The point at 
which the process tends to culminate is a condition of 
society in which the whole mass of the excluded people 

[283] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

will be at last brought into the rivalry of existence on a 
footing of equality of opportunity. 

"The steps in this process have been slow to a de- 
gree, but the development has never been interrupted, 
and it probably will not be until it has reached that 
point up to which it has always been the inherent ten- 
dency of the principle of our civilization to carry it. 
The first great stage in the advance was accomplished 
when- slavery, for the first time in history, became ex- 
tinct in Europe somewhere about the fourteenth cen- 
tury. From this point onward the development has 
continued under many forms amongst the peoples 
included in our civilization — locally accelerated or re- 
tarded by various causes, but always in progress. 
Amongst all the Western peoples there has been a slow 
but sure restriction of the absolute power possessed 
under military rule by the head of the state. The 
gradual decay of feudalism has been accompanied by 
the transfer of a large part of the rights, considerably 
modified, of the feudal lords to the landowning, and 
later to the capitalist classes which succeeded them. 
But we find these rights undergoing a continuous 
process of restriction, as the classes which inherited 
them have been compelled to extend political power in 
ever-increasing measure to those immediately below. 
As the rights and power of the upper classes have been 
gradually curtailed, the great slowly-formed middle 
class has, in its turn, found itself confronted with the 
same developmental tendency. Wider and wider the 
circle of political influence has gradually extended. 

[284] 



THE HIGHER LIFE OF MAN 

Whether the progress has been made irregularly amid 
the throes of revolution, or more regularly in the 
orderly course of continuous legislative enactment, it 
has never ceased. The nineteenth century alone has 
witnessed an enormous extension of political power 
to the masses amongst most of the advanced peoples 
included in our civilization. In England the list of 
measures,, aiming either directly or indirectly at the 
emancipation and the raising of the lower classes of 
the people, that have been placed on the statute-book in 
the lifetime of even the present generation, is an im- 
posing one, and it continues yearly to be added to." 

"It has been noticed that in that state of society 
which flourished under the military empires, the extent 
to which progress could be made was strictly limited. 
In a social order comprising a series of hereditarily dis- 
tinct groups or classes, and resting ultimately on a 
broad basis of slavery, the great majority of the people 
were penned off apart, and excluded from all oppor- 
tunity of developing their own personalities. Those 
forces which have created the modern world could, 
therefore, have little opportunity for action or for de- 
velopment. In Eastern countries, where the institution 
of caste still prevails, we have, indeed, only an example 
of a condition of society in which (in the absence of 
that developmental force which we shall have to ob- 
serve at work amongst ourselves) these groups and 
classes have become fixed and rigid, and in which, con- 
sequently, progress has been thwarted and impeded at 
every turn by innumerable barriers which have for 

[285] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

ages prevented that free conflict of forces within the 
community which has made so powerfully for progress 
among the Western peoples. 

"When we follow the process of development grad- 
ually proceeding throughout European history, we can 
be in no doubt as to its character. We see that the 
energies of men, instead of being, as in the earlier socie- 
ties, either stifled altogether, or absorbed in the service 
of the state to be utilized largely in the exploitation of 
other peoples by violence, have continually tended to 
find a freer outlet. But the process, we observe, has 
been accompanied by a steady increase of energy, enter- 
prise, and activity amongst the peoples most affected. 
As the movement which is bringing the excluded masses 
of the people into the competition of life on a footing 
of equality has continued, its tendency, while humaniz- 
ing the conditions, has unmistakably been to develop in 
intensity, and to raise in efficiency the rivalry in which, 
as the first condition of progress, we are all engaged. 
As the opportunity has been more and more fully se- 
cured to the individual to follow without restraint of 
class, privilege, or birth wherever his capacity or abili- 
ties lead him, so also have all those features of vigor- 
ous enterprise, indomitable energy, and restless activity 
which distinguish the leading branches of the European 
peoples become more marked. As the rivalry has be- 
come freer and fairer, the stress has become greater 
and the results more striking. All those remarkable 
features of the modern world which impress the imag- 
ination, which serve to distinguish our times so effec- 

[286] 



THE HIGHER LIFE OF MAN 

tively from the past, and which have to a large extent 
contributed to place the European peoples outside the 
fear of rivalry from any other section of the race are, 
in effect, but the result of those strenuous conditions 
of life which have accompanied the free play of forces 
in the community, this latter being in its turn the direct 
product of the movement which is bringing the masses 
of the people into the rivalry of existence on conditions 
of equality."* 

When the history of modern democracy is written, 
its first chapter will be devoted to an exposition of the 
teachings and example of Jesus. It will show how he 
added to the common fund the idea of the worth of 
man as man, whatever his parentage, race, wealth or 
previous condition. We are here concerned with this 
idea in its social and ethical rather than its religious 
aspect. What does it involve? First, a faith in one's 
fellow men, irrespective of family or nationality. The 
Jew had the Golden Rule in his Scriptures, but it 
applied only to fellow Jews, or at best to the exile from 
another land who happened to be within his gates. It 
did not apply to the Babjdonian, to the Edomite, to the 
Samaritan, to the Greek or to the Roman. Jesus' 
teachings did not necessarily break down nationality, 
but they broke down national limits to ethical obliga- 
tion. They broke down similar limits imposed by ties 
of blood, caste or rank. Men could not even shut out 
their competitors or their enemies. So much nega- 
tively. Positively, the new democracy means a belief in 

* Social Evolution, 150 ff. 

[287] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

the possibilities open to every man, however unpromis- 
ing or base. 

Jesus' idea involves, secondly, an affection for every 
man — love, "charity," sympathy — the readiness to ad- 
mit him to an equality of consideration, and as far as 
possible of opportunity. Third, the generating of faith 
and of a "fund of altruistic feeling," through the 
actual practice of brotherhood and democracy. Prob- 
ably no one ever believed in the Golden Rule until he 
began to practise it. Wherever the followers of Jesus 
have practised brotherhood, in the earliest Christian 
centuries for instance, and in the revival of the teach- 
ings of Jesus before and during the Reformation, we 
see the spirit of democracy and the attempt to apply 
it to human relations and institutions. Altruism is not, 
as Drummond would teach us, a biological fact, a 
higher development of the reproductive instinct. The 
civilized child is naturally no more altruistic than the 
Paleolithic child. Altruism, like all other social forces, 
is an addition to the psychical equipment of the men 
and women who make up communities and nations. 

In this connection some reference should be made to 
the ethical accumulations of the race before the time of 
Jesus. The passage from the horde to the clan means 
the subordination of the individual's interests and pas- 
sions to the common interests of the clan. Later there 
is a similar subordination to the chieftain or king. 
The community spirit is in all cases an ethical force 
as well as a social bond. To break the community 
standards brought punishment, to disregard them alto- 

[288] 



THE HIGHER LIFE OF MAN 

gether meant ostracism or banishment, if not death. 
These standards are embodied in generations of judicial 
decisions and afterward in written law. 

The earliest complete law-code which has come 
dow r n to us is that of Khamurabi, from about 2350 
B. C. It reflects the complex city civilization of the 
Babylonia of that day. To quote Dr. Johns' summary 
in the Encyclopaedia Britannica: "Almost all trace of 
tribal custom has already disappeared from the law of 
the Code. It is state-law; alike self-help, blood-feud, 
marriage by capture, are absent ; though family solidar- 
ity, district responsibility, ordeal, the lex talionis, are 
primitive features that remain. The king is a benev- 
olent autocrat, easily accessible to all his subjects, both 
able and willing to protect the weak against the high- 
est-placed oppressor. The royal power, however, can 
only pardon when private resentment is appeased. The 
judges are strictly supervised and appeal is allowed. 
The whole land is covered with feudal holdings, mas- 
ters of the levy, police, etc. There is a regular postal 
system. The pax Babylonica is so assured that private 
individuals do not hesitate to ride in their carriage 
from Babylon to the coast of the Mediterranean. The 
position of women is free and dignified."* In all 
respects the Code of Khamurabi compares favorably 
with the Roman law of 2,500 years later, and its ethical 
standards are perhaps higher than those of Roman law 
before the influence of Christianity began to be felt. 
Babylonian and Roman law represent independent 

*Enc. Brit., Ill, 116 b. 

T 289 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

ethical accumulations, and stand as monuments to the 
higher life of man. Similar accumulations were begun 
elsewhere. 

The various Hebrew law-codes have been separated 
by modern scholars, whose work in this investigation is 
one of the best examples which we have of sound in- 
ductive reasoning based on comparative study. These 
codes repay careful examination, though the Deuter- 
onpmic and Priestly must be taken as more or less ideal. 
The familiar Hebrew decalogue, found in Deuteron- 
omy and also in Exodus, probably comes in its present 
form from about 600 B. C. and reflects the teachings of 
Isaiah and other great ethical leaders. Its form is neg- 
ative, and it is possible to interpret it according to the 
limited ethical horizon of the average Hebrew. Even 
so, the later Jews show not only a grasp of certain 
fundamental moralities, but an ethical passion and a 
subordination of the individual life to moral principles, 
to which we find no parallel elsewhere. Gautama, 
Socrates and the Roman stoics were noble teachers of 
ethics, but they had only a limited and brief following. 
The morality of the ancient Germans was overcolored 
by Roman writers, like that of the noble savage of 
Rousseau's day; their community standards were those 
of the prosperous patronymic tribe. The Jews of the 
time of Christ, no longer independent and more or less 
scattered, formed a community largely governed by 
moral ideals. Their real rulers were not the Roman 
officials but the interpreters and preachers of the law. 
That law might be narrowly interpreted, but it was 

[290] 



THE HIGHER LIEE OF MAN 

zealously and scrupulously followed by the Jews in 
Palestine and throughout the Empire. And the gen- 
eral standard of life was high, both absolutely and rela- 
tively. Nowhere in the world of that day do we see, 
for example, a purer home life or a more careful train- 
ing of children. 

When we turn from the average Jew to the greatest 
of the Hebrew prophets and poets, we find many antici- 
pations of the broader interpretation given to the law 
by Jesus: the idea of service to the world as well as to 
Israel, almost rising at times to the thought of the 
brotherhood of man; the duty of justice and considera- 
tion to the poor and oppressed; the subordination of 
ceremonial to conduct, of outward action to controlling 
motive, of letter to spirit, of material to moral values ; 
even the emphasis (by Jeremiah, and still more by Eze- 
kiel) on individual responsibility. Taken as a whole, 
Hebrew ethics must rank as one of the great achieve- 
ments of the race, only equalled by the ethics practised 
by Jesus and his followers. 

Perhaps the greatest achievements of the race have 
been in individual character. 'Our chief glory is the 
memory of such men as Moses, Hosea, Nehemiah, 
Gautama, Socrates, Jesus, Marcus Aurelius, Gregory 
the Great, Winfred Boniface, Saladin, Francis of As- 
sisi, Wyclif, Coligny, Melancthon, Xavier, William 
Bradford, Colonel Hutchinson, Charles Wesley, La- 
fayette, Henry Havelock, Abraham Lincoln, David 
Livingstone, Mark Hopkins, Joseph Neesima, Father 
Damien; such women as Cornelia, Monica, Joan of 

[291 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

Arc, Santa Theresa, Renee of Ferrara, Madame Ro- 
land, Louise of Prussia, Elizabeth Fry, Mary Lyon, 
Queen Victoria, Mrs. Stowe, Florence Nightingale, 
Julia Ward Howe, Alice Freeman Palmer. The 
canon of human sainthood has wide limits. Greater 
than all our arts and inventions is the fact that multi- 
tudes of men and women are governing their lives by 
ideals of purity, of integrity, of justice,- of neighborli- 
ness.. To this ethical development animal life furnishes 
no parallel. Such facts must be given due considera- 
tion in a philosophy of the universe of which man 
forms a part. 



[292] 



CHAPTER XVII 

THE SHADOWS OF HISTORY 

AX/'E have been considering the progress and 
* * achievements of man. What is there on the side 
away from the sun to which the pessimist would call 
our attention? In order to gain a fair estimate of 
the facts of human history and their value for philos- 
ophy, we must have all the facts. I have shown the 
high lights. To show history in its true perspective, 
I must paint a companion picture that will give the 
shadows. 

There is, first of all, the argument from numbers. 
Carlyle's statement about so many million persons in 
the British isles, "mostly fools," may be extended out- 
ward and backward. The small proportion of the 
morally distinguished in the total population must tend 
to lower our estimate of the value of man as man. 

Let us make a rough and arbitrary calculation of the 
total number of humans who have grown to maturity. 
Allowing 400,000 years for man's life on the earth, and 
three generations to each century, the following table 
of population is probably conservative. 

Tripling these figures to allow for children who have 
never reached maturity, and doubling the total again 
to cover children conceived but not born, we should 
have the enormous total of three hundred and ninety- 

[293] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 



PERIOD 


YEARS ( 


Paleolithic . 


391,500 


Neolithic 


3,500 


Bronze Age . 


2,000 


Pre-Christ'n . 


I, OOO 


Christian to 




1800 . 


1,800 


1 800-1 860 


60 


1860-1890 


30 


Recent . 


34 



AVERAGE 
3ENERATI0NS POPULATION TOTAL 

11,745 2,000,000 23,490,000,000 

IO5 50,000,000 5,250,000,000 
60 100,000,000 6,000,000,000 
30 200,000,000 6,000,000,000 



54 400,000,000 21,600,000,000 

2 700,000,000 1,400,000,000 

I 1,000,000,000 1,000,000,000 

I 1,500,000,000, 1,500,000,000 



66,240,000,000 

seven billion, four hundred and forty million human 
beings. Even if we confine our attention to the sixty- 
six billion mature persons accounted for in the table, 
it is doubtful if ten billion have had any culture worthy 
of the name. The remaining fifty-six billion have been 
savages, but little removed from the wild beasts with 
which they competed for food, or else slaves and 
coolies, morally degraded and economically dependent 
on a superior race. Of the ten billion "elect," how 
many would rank as anything more than ignorant, 
superstitious, irresponsible peasants? We seem to be 
thrown back on the survival theories of Darwin and 
his contemporaries. To produce a few thousand or 
million elect souls in each generation of the Christian 
era has cost the lives of vast multitudes through a pe- 
riod twenty times as long. 

Civilization, far from being an unmixed blessing, 
has introduced conditions that are causing rapid physi- 
cal degeneration. I quote at length from a paper by 
Dr. J. H. Kellogg of the Battle Creek Sanitarium be- 

[294] 



THE SHADOWS OF HISTORY 

fore the Connecticut Conference of Charities and Cor- 
rection in 191 1.* 

"For more than fifty years men whose studies or 
experiences have given them special opportunities for 
observation have been calling attention to the signs of 
degeneracy and the possibilities of the ultimate extinc- 
tion of the human race unless preventive measures 
were adopted. 

"A few years ago the English government created a 
commission charged with the duty of investigating the 
question of race degeneracy in England. This com- 
mittee, known as the Inter-Departmental Committee 
on Physical Deterioration in Great Britain, made a 
very exhaustive study of the subject, taking the testi- 
mony of physicians, scientists, sociologists, magistrates, 
and people of all classes who had had opportunity for 
extensive and accurate observation, and published a 
voluminous report of their hearings. On page 177 of 
the report we read: 'In England, degeneration is espe- 
cially manifest in Manchester and other manufacturing 
districts. The police force is largely recruited from 
country districts, it not being possible to find enough 
men who are large enough in Manchester and Salford.' 
A recruiting officer testified that 60 per cent of those 
who offered themselves as volunteers for military duty 
are rejected because of physical unfitness, and this not- 
withstanding the fact that the standard of requirements 
had been considerably lowered. 

"Mr. Gray, a member of the Anthropological Insti- 

* Proceedings, 1912, pp. 89 ff. 

[295 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

tute, noted a deterioration of physique in a portion of 
the population of Edinburgh and in the population of 
the west of Ireland. Within recent times attention has 
been drawn to the great number of defectives among 
school children. For instance, a Scotch committee 
which made an extensive study of this subject found 70 
per cent of the children in the public schools of Scot- 
land more or less abnormal. The condition in this 
country is no better. The New York Bureau of 
Municipal Research published the results of the ex- 
amination of 1,500 school children in three city 
schools in which they found 93 per cent to be 
defective. 

"We are rapidly becoming edentulous or toothless. 
The German authorities report that 90 per cent of the 
children of the public schools of that country have de- 
fective teeth. In Cambridge, England, a recent report 
of an examination of the public schools showed less 
than one per cent of the children eleven years of age or 
over whose teeth were sound. Professor Cunningham, 
the great English anatomist, has said: 'It is an obvious 
fact that the teeth of the people of the present time 
cannot stand comparison in point of durability with 
those of the earlier inhabitants of Britain. Those who 
have the opportunity of examining ancient skulls can- 
not fail to be struck with this.' 

"Another evidence of deterioration is the diminishing 
birth-rate. The birth-rate in England has fallen from 
35.3 per thousand in the five-year period 1 876-1 880, to 
26.0 per thousand in 1906-19 10. Each period of five 

[296] 



THE SHADOWS OF HISTORY 



years shows a material decrease from the preceding 
period. . . . 

''The birth-rate is decreasing in nearly all civilized 
countries, as shown by the following table; the only 
exceptions being Spain, Austria and Ireland: 

"DECREASE OF BIRTH-RATE BETWEEN 1880 AND 

1902 
"countries showing a decreased fertility rate 

Decrease Decrease 



"Country Per 


Cent. Country Per 


Cent. 


'New South Wales 


30.6 England and Wales 


17.7 


South Australia . 


28.0 Scotland 


12.7 


New Zealand 


24.5 Denmark 


9.8 


Victoria 


24.2 The Netherlands . 


9-5 


Western Australia 


23.9 German Empire . 


8.4 


Queensland . 


23.2 Sweden . 


8.2 


United States 


20.0 Switzerland . 


6.4 


Belgium 


19.8 Norway 


3-7 


France . 


19.7 Italy 


2.5 



"The rates shown in the above tables are calculated 
on the number of married women between the ages 
of 15 and 45. It is a matter worthy of note that the 
birth-rate is diminishing more rapidly in the United 
States than in any other part of the world except Aus- 
tralia and New Zealand. The fertility of American 
wives is decreasing at the rate of one per" cent a year. 
A recent census^ report shows the average number of 
children borne by native-born New England wives to 
be 2.7 and of foreign-born wjves living in the same 
section 4.4. 

"Another evidence of degeneracy of a kindred sort 
is the increasing inability of women to nurse their chil- 

[297] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

dren. According to Dr. Holt, 'In New York at least 
three children out of every four born into the homes 
of the well-to-do classes must be fed at some other 
fount than the maternal breast.' Within the last few 
years an enormous business in the manufacture of in- 
fant foods has been built up in this country because of 
the inability of American mothers to nurse their infants, 
a fact which is in itself a most striking evidence of the 
progress which race degeneracy is making in this coun- 
try. There is no doubt that in certain parts of the 
United States decay of the native population through 
diminished fertility is already far advanced, though the 
actual condition is for the present somewhat obscured 
by immigration and the large families of the 
newcomers. 

"The increase of insanity and idiocy has become so 
marked in recent years that a note of alarm is fre- 
quently heard from alienists on both sides of the Atlan- 
tic. Dr. Forbes Winslow, one of the world's greatest 
authorities on mental diseases, recently stated in a pub- 
lic utterance published in the London Times that, in his 
opinion, the entire race is destined to become insane. 
The superintendent of the State Insane Asylum at Aus- 
tin, Texas, in* his last annual report called the attention 
of the people of that great state to the 'fact that insan- 
ity is increasing so rapidly in Texas that unless some- 
thing is done to check it, it will not be many years 
before the insane will outnumber the sane, and, as the 
superintendent said, 'will break out of the asylums and 
put us in.' 

[298] 



THE SHADOWS OF HISTORY 

"And other parts of the United States are far in ad- 
vance of Texas in mental decadence. For example, in 
1867 the proportion of the insane in New York and 
in New England was about 1 to 1,600 of the popula- 
tion. At the present time the proportion of insane in 
New York is 1 to 273 of the total population, or prac- 
tically six times as many. In a pamphlet by Homer 
Folks and Everett Elwood, issued by the State Chari- 
ties Aid Association of New York, it is stated that 
there are in the hospitals of New York alone 32,657 
insane persons — more than double the number in 1890, 
an increase of 104 per cent in twenty years, while the 
population in the same state has increased only 52 per 
cent. This number, great as it is, by no means repre- 
sents the entire number of insane or of mental defec- 
tives in the State of New York, since the statistics of 
the hospitals show that about 25 per cent of all persons 
who are committed to the insane hospitals are dis- 
charged within a year as cured, at least temporarily, 
and 25 per cent more are discharged not cured, but 
improved sufficiently to be thought not to require asy- 
lum restraint. 

"Besides this great army of lunatics, there is an 
equally large army of idiots and weak-minded persons, 
constituting a group of defectives which reaches not 
less than 300,000. Professor Davenport, head of the 
Department of Eugenics of the Carnegie Institute, re- 
cently informed me that a study of defectives in the 
State of New Jersey shows that the feeble-minded class 
has doubled in that State in a single generation. The 

[ 299 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

proportion is now I to 250 of the total population. In 
Ireland, an older country, the proportion is 1 to 147. 
Evidently there are lower levels of mental degeneracy 
which we have not yet reached, and toward which we 
are hastening. We now have one mental defective ( in- 
sane or feeble-minded) in every 150 of our population. 
Ireland has 1 to 77 insane or feeble-minded. These 
terrible facts demand attention. We are creating a 
lunatic and idiot population which threatens to become 
a majority within a few short centuries. 

"Another degenerative malady characteristic of civi- 
lization is cancer. Williams has shown that this dis- 
ease is practically unknown among the wild races of 
men and of animals; that it is found most common 
in the most highly civilized communities and among 
domestic animals. Cancer at the present time kills one 
in twenty of all the people dying in the United States. 
Its prevalence has increased 500 per cent in sixty years. 
Cancer is a chronic disease, and the death of 75,000 
from this disease in the United States annually in spite 
of the best efforts of modern surgery means that not 
less than 300,000 are suffering constantly from this 
most loathsome malady. At the present rate of in- 
crease, by the middle of the century at least 1 in 
40 of the entire population will be suffering from this 
disease, and 25 per cent of the mortality will be due 
to it. . . . 

"Chronic diseases and degenerations of all sorts are 
increasing, and at a very rapid rate in recent times. 
Careful study of the mortality reports of the United 

[300] 



THE SHADOWS OF HISTORY 

States Census Bureau makes this fact very clear. . . . 
The mortality from diabetes, in spite of all the discov- 
eries in metabolism and improvements in dietetics, has 
increased nearly 50 per cent in ten years ; and the mor- 
tality from appendicitis, notwithstanding the best ef- 
forts of able surgeons, has increased more than 20 per 
cent in the same time. During the same time, the mor- 
tality from heart disease has increased over 50 per cent. 
Mr. Rittenhouse, late president of the Provident Sav- 
ings Life Assurance Society of New York, has recently 
called attention to the fact that there has been an in- 
crease in the mortality from Bright's disease through- 
out the United States of 131 per cent. 

"Chronic disease kills half the people who die in 
the United States, or about 750,000 persons annually. 
Half of these, that is 375,000, would not die if the 
average health were as good as thirty years ago. This 
enormous increase in the mortality rate from chronic 
disease has escaped the attention of sanitarians be- 
cause of the notable decrease in the general death rate, 
as the result of a decrease in deaths from acute dis- 
ease so great as to more than equal the increase in 
deaths from chronic disease. 

"When we turn from the contemplation of physical 
disorders to the consideration of moral maladies, the 
picture is darker still. Crime is increasing at a 
rapid rate. There are 10,000 murders and 16,000 
suicides every year, — one murder in every 9,000 of 
the population annually, and one suicide in every 5,800. 

"In France, according to the Revue de Paris, crime is 

[301 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

increasing rapidly, especially juvenile crime. There 
are 400,000 highway robberies in France annually. A 
criminal type of men and women is developing, and has 
already reached large proportions in all civilized coun- 
tries. A bulletin recently sent out by the Eugenics 
Record Office of the Carnegie Institution tells of a 
family with 319 members, only 42 of whom were nor- 
*mal; and the proportions, we are informed, have since 
been increased to 600, with only 50 normal. 

"Another evidence of the one-sided hygiene which 
simply preserves the unfit while doing nothing to cure 
their unfitness appears in the marked depreciation in 
the proportion of centenarians to the whole population 
which is going on in all civilized countries. The real 
measure of the physical vigor of a race is not the age 
at which the average man dies, but the proportion of 
individuals who attain to great age. Cholera, yellow 
fever epidemics, and other plagues in former times 
weeded out the weaklings, drunkards, debauchees and 
other classes of the unfit. By keeping these alive 
through quarantine and public sanitation, the average 
longevity is increased, while both the actual number 
as well as the proportion of centenarians has been 
steadily diminishing. 

"Senility and youth are approaching each other, and 
the time seems not far distant when the normal interval 
between youth and second childhood will disappear, 
and childhood will be met by second childhood. A 
Philadelphia doctor reported a youth of 28 years whose 
arteries were as hard as pipe stems, and a German au- 

[302] 



THE SHADOWS OF HISTORY 

thority reported a similar case in which the patient's 
age was 17 years. Men and women of 40 who present 
all the evidences of advanced senility are rapidly in- 
creasing in number. The responsible cause is the 
same as that which produces the increasing mortal- 
ity from Bright's disease, heart disease, and pneu- 
monia. Degenerated kidneys, hardened arteries, fatty 
heart are simply old kidneys and arteries/ and senile 
heart." 

Passing to economics, let us glance at some of the 
conditions found in the United States, the most fav- 
ored country of its size in the world. The continental 
population in 19 10 was 91,972,266. In the previous 
year 6,615,046 were classed as wage-earners in manu- 
facturing industries, the distinctive economic product 
of civilization. Of these workers the average weekly 
wage for men was $11.16; for women $6.17; for chil- 
dren under 16, $3.46. Some concrete examples will 
make these figures live. 

In February, 19 10, a strike at Bethlehem, Pennsyl- 
vania, called attention to labor conditions in that re- 
gion. Of the 9,184 men employed by the steel plant, 
4,725 were found to have a twelve-hour work day, and 
those on slightly shorter schedules were frequently re- 
quired to work overtime. When shifts were changed, 
twenty-four consecutive hours was not uncommon. 
Twenty-eight per cent of all employees worked regu- 
larly seven days in the week, and others irregularly, 
bringing the percentage up to forty-three. Sixty-one 
per cent earned less than eighteen cents an hour, and 

. [ 303 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

31.9 per cent less than fourteen cents an hour, or under 
$1.68 for a twelve-hour working day. Large numbers 
were working for 121/2 cents an hour, twelve hours 
a day, seven days a week.* 

The Survey made of the Pittsburgh district in 1907 
by the Russell Sage Foundation revealed similar con- 
ditions. Of the 70,000 mill workers in the county, 
at least one in every five worked seven days a week- 
The twelve-hour day had come to be the standard for 
the majority. Every second week, sixty per cent of 
the blast-furnace workers had their "long turn" of 
twenty-four hours. "Home," said many a man to the 
Survey workers, "is just the place where I eat and 
sleep. I live in the mills." In the budget of the Slav 
families, the food cost was found to be about twenty- 
five cents a day* a man. While the cost of living had 
gone up twenty-two per cent in the seventeen years 
since the crushing of the unions in the Homestead 
Strike, the Steel Corporation was paying only eleven 
per cent more than in 1892 (an average of 16 1/2 
cents as compared with fourteen) and this at a time of 
unexampled prosperity in the steel industry, following 
"a period of marvellous industrial concentration and 
mechanical advance." In the Jones and Laughlin 
mills, the largest independent plant in Pittsburgh, the 
rate for day labor was fifteen cents per hour, an ad- 
vance of only seven per cent. Skilled workers had suf- 
fered a very much greater reduction in their earning 
power. 

* Special Report of U. S. Bureau of Labor, May, 1910. 

[304] 



THE SHADOWS OF HISTORY 

Many of the mills would not engage laborers over 
forty years of age, and in some departments men over 
thirty-five were not employed. The industry not only 
demanded fresh supplies of men in their prime, but the 
workers were speeded up to the limit of their capacity. 
The pay was in many cases determined by the piece- 
work put through by a crew of men. A bonus was 
given the foreman for increased production. To this 
speeding up and consequent over-exertion is undoubt- 
edly due the fact that at least 2,000 men are hired each 
year for every 1,000 positions. The human tide flows 
from Europe and back again with each rise and fall 
in the steel industry. Rebellion among the workmen 
was kept quiet by the rather illusive stock-sharing 
offer, by a regular system of espionage, and by the 
discharging of all men who attempted to form labor 
unions.* 

With his long hours of exhausting toil, in constant 
danger, with little insurance against disability and none 
at all against non-employment, exploited by grasping 
landlords and by the saloon-keepers of the neighbor- 
hood (in McKeesport alone, a borough of 30,000 peo- 
ple, the ninety saloons took in $60,000 after every pay 
day), compelled to live in crowded and often squalid 
quarters under the most unsanitary conditions, too ig- 
norant or too cowed and weary to make any effort for 
industrial or civil betterment — what chance has a man 
for the cultivation of the higher life, even in the pres- 

* Report of the Pittsburgh Survey: Homestead, 1910; The 
Steel Workers, 1911; art. by John R. Commons, Charities, 
XXI, 1051 (1909). 

[305] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

ence of trade-schools and museums and Carnegie 
libraries ? Yet this is civilization ! 

Of the working women in Pittsburgh — and they are 
probably typical of the 1,290,253 women wage-earners 
in the entire country — less than a fifth were earning 
$8 or over, and three-fifths were earning less than $7 
a week, although working ten and twelve hours a day, 
and often much longer in the rush seasons. They gen- 
erally began at fifty cents a day. Some firms never 
paid their adult women more than $4 a week. A living 
budget might possibly be made up on $7 a week, with 
no allowance for amusements or extras.* Recent 
studies have placed the standard at $8 or $9 for whole- 
some and pure living among working girls. Economic 
pressure has been one cause, though by no means the 
only cause, of the alarming spread of prostitution, 
which in Chicago alone was shown by the Vice Com- 
mission to claim 100,000 women, or one out of every 
five hundred, probably 5,000 girls being sacrificed every 
year to the traffic. Yet this is civilization! 

In discussing child labor — there were 162,000 wage- 
earners under sixteen in the manufacturing industries 
of the United States in 1909 — I again take a case from 
Pittsburgh. A boy was employed in a toby factory, 
rolling cheap cigars. He was twelve years old, and at 
the time of the investigation had already been at work 
seven months. His hours were six A. M. to eight P. M., 
with intermissions of fifteen minutes for lunch and 
twenty minutes for supper — thirty-five minutes in four- 

* Charities, XXI, n 18 ff. 

[ 306 ] 



THE SHADOWS OF HISTORY 

teen hours. He did not work Saturdays till evening, 
when he was on duty from seven until midnight and 
sometimes after. Worked regularly on Sundays. The 
room in which he rolled his tobies was dark and poorly 
ventilated, the air charged with tobacco dust. The boy 
seemed gentle and uncomplaining, but coughed a good 
deal and spoke of pains in his back and chest.* Yet 
this is civilization ! 

When Robert W. de Forest took hold of the tene- 
ment-house problem in New York in 1903, he found 
"conditions in many instances to be so bad that the 
most sensational newspapers of the city would hesitate 
to publish photographs of them. Vile privies and privy 
sinks; foul cellars full of rubbish, in many cases of 
garbage and decomposing fecal matter; dilapidated and 
dangerous stairs ; plumbing pipes containing large holes 
emitting sewer gas through the houses; rooms so dark 
that one cannot see the people in them; cellars occu- 
pied as sleeping places; dangerous bakeries, without 
proper protection in case of fire ; pigs, goats, horses, and 
other animals kept in cellars; dangerous old fire-traps 
without fire-escapes; disease-breeding rags and junk 
stored in tenement-houses; halls kept dark at night, 
endangering the lives and safety of the occupants; 
buildings without adequate water supply."t Under 
such conditions human beings lived and worked and 
increased their kind. One family to a room was a 
common occurrence, and the single room often included 

* Nat. Child Labor Com., Pamphlet 11, 1905. 

t Report to Board of Estimate, Charities, XI, 355 (1903). 

[307] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

boarders. Privacy was impossible, or even decency. 
Grown girls stripped to the waist would go to the com- 
mon sink to wash. Often the tenement harbored a 
public prostitute. Similar housing conditions have 
been found in practically all the great industrial cities 
of America, as the searchlight has been turned upon 
them one by one. Yet this is civilization ! 

With the increase of poverty, involving ten million 
persons according to Robert Hunter's estimate a few 
years ago, has gone the increasing concentration of 
wealth. The total wealth of the United States in 1904 
was estimated by the Census Bureau at $107,104,211,- 
917. Almost all of this (ninety-four per cent) has 
been accumulated since 1840, and we are now, says 
Josiah Strong, increasing it at the rate of $8,000,000 a 
day. How is this enormous wealth distributed? The 
figures of G. K. Holmes for the tenth census showed 
that .03 per cent of the people owned twenty per cent 
of the wealth; that 8.97 per cent of the people owned 
fifty-one per cent of the wealth; and that ninety-one 
per cent of the people owned only twenty-nine per cent 
of the wealth. The testimony given before the Pujo 
Committee, in December, 19 12, showed that, by a sys- 
tem of interlocking directorates, a group of twenty-five 
or thirty great financiers have at their command 
twenty-five billion dollars of capital, or practically a 
quarter of the entire wealth of the nation. 

The Census Bureau has made the following esti- 
mates for the manufacturing industries of the country 
in 1909: 

[308] 



THE SHADOWS OF HISTORY 



Capital . 

Salaries . 

Wages . 

Cost of materials 

Value of product 

Added by manufacture 



$18,428,270,000 

938,575,ooo 

3,427,038,000 

12,141,791,000 

20,672,052,000 

8,530,691,000 



In other words, the increase in the value of the fin- 
ished product, after deducting labor and cost of mate- 
rials, was $4,165,078,000, or enough to pay over 
twenty-two per cent on the total capital invested, giv- 
ing a very large margin of profit, even after due allow- 
ance for upkeep and depreciation had been made. The 
Standard Oil Company in 191 1 paid $37 per share; in 
1 901 the dividend was as high as $48. The immense 
profits of the Steel Trust and many other large cor- 
porations have been disguised by skillful stock-water- 
ing. Is it any wonder that the working classes in this 
country are complaining that they are not receiving 
a proper proportion of the value which they produce ? 

"The fond owner of a diminutive black-and-tan dog 
gave a banquet in honor of the animal. The dog was 
worth, perhaps, fifty dollars. The festivities were very 
gay. The man's friends came to his dinner in droves, 
the men in evening clothes and the women bedecked 
in shimmering silks and flashing jewels. In the midst 
of the dinner, the man formally decorated his dog with 
a diamond collar worth fifteen thousand dollars. It 
contained seven hundred brilliants, varying in weight 
from one-sixth to one carat. The guests shouted their 

[309] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 
approval, and the dinner was regarded as a huge 



success." 



"At a dinner party given by a notorious millionaire, 
each guest discovered in one of his oysters a magnifi- 
cent black pearl. It was a fitting prelude to a sump- 
tuous banquet and it contained an element of surprise. 
It was said that the dinner cost the giver twenty thou- 
sand dollars." Slav workers were probably toiling for 
him on a food budget of twenty-five cents per day per 
man. 

"Very young and very wealthy was the young man 
whose attentions to an embryonic actress amused a 
community a few years back. It was the young man's 
opinion that he was desperately in love with the lady, 
who in later years married a publisher of songs. The 
millionaire youngster showered the girl with gifts. He 
gave her rings, bracelets, necklaces, and diamond- 
studded combs for her black tresses until she glistened 
from head to foot. The very buttons of her gloves 
were diamonds, and her shoes were fastened with mon- 
ster pearls. The question of taste never entered into 
the situation. It was simply the spending of money 
and the bedecking of a coarse, but crafty, stage girl. 
In three years she succeeded in throwing away almost 
a million dollars for the deluded youngster, at the end 
of which time they parted."* Yet this is civilization! 

What of the future? With the exploitation of the 
many by the few, resulting on the one hand in poverty 
and its accompanying moral and physical degeneration, 

*F. T. Martin, Passing of the Idle Rich, 1911, pp. 32 ff. 

[3IO] 



THE SHADOWS OF HISTORY 

and on the other hand in extravagance and luxury lead- 
ing no less surely to degeneration, with the working 
classes organizing, in such bodies as The Industrial 
Workers of the World, not merely for better economic 
conditions, but for the actual conquest of the capitalist 
and the distribution of the spoils, with the bomb and 
the stiletto threatening to usher in a new French Rev- 
olution, the stock of civilization is decidedly below par. 
The "higher life of man" could be insured only as a 
war risk. Meanwhile the elect few play merrily on, 
above the volcano. 

Here pessimism rests its case. To whom will the 
impartial student of social conditions give the verdict? 

There is unquestionably a dark as well as a bright 
side to human history. To see the one without the 
other is wilful blindness. 

The higher life of man — his capacity for improve- 
ment in every age from the first dawn of history, his 
human affections and sympathies even under the most 
debasing conditions of poverty or luxury, the intellect- 
ual and moral advance of a large proportion of the race 
—all this is a reality, even if civilization should fall in 
some new social cataclysm and the path of future prog- 
ress be blocked for centuries by its ruins. 

But such a climax is by no means certain. Black as 
is the picture which I have been compelled to draw, a 
closer study of the present situation reveals many en- 
couraging features. The economic development of 
the civilized nations, through the introduction of power 
machinery and the organization of the factory system, 

[3"] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

has taken place with such rapidity that civilization has 
been unable to keep pace with the radical social and 
economic changes resulting. Pittsburgh, for instance, 
had grown in a comparatively few years from a group 
of country villages to a city of over half a million peo- 
ple. The several independent boroughs had not yet 
been incorporated into a single government. Sanitation 
had not received proper attention. Increased housing 
accommodations had been provided by private specula- 
tion,- without public supervision or a due regard to the 
well-being of the people as a whole. That such a sit- 
uation may be met successfully is shown by the changes 
already brought about in Pittsburgh since the Survey. 
The same is true of New York, where some of the 
worst evils have been remedied through the work of 
The Tenement House Commission. German indus- 
trial cities show an almost perfect adjustment to the 
new conditions. Modern medical science, backed by 
public opinion and the funds put at its disposal through 
government grants and private philanthropy, is attack- 
ing in earnest the problems of disease and degeneracy. 
Much the same may be said of our economic system. 
The present is a period of transition, of uncompleted 
adjustment. Modern civilization is beginning to grap- 
ple with the problem of poverty itself. The democratic 
movement, which is becoming dominant in practically 
every modern country, has the purpose and apparently 
the power to bring about a better distribution of 
wealth, the securing by the workman of a fairer share 
in the value created by his labor, the shortening of 

[312] 



THE SHADOWS OF HISTORY 

hours, the improvement of factory conditions, and in- 
surance against disability, non-employment and old age. 
To any one in touch with such a movement the future 
appears bright rather than dark. 

That the millennium is at hand no one may claim. 
There are problems before us which will need for 
their solution the best leadership democracy can pro- 
duce. Much that the old regime has contributed may 
be lost. Much that the new order expects will doubt- 
less prove illusive. But that the present failures of 
civilization will largely be retrieved, there is ground 
for hope. Man seems likely to become a factor of 
ever-increasing weight in the scale of the universe. 



[313] 



PART IV 
THE SPIRITUAL 



CHAPTER XVIII 

THE SOCIAL STAGES OF RELIGION 

f T remains for us to consider a fourth group of phe- 
■*■ nomena, which may or may not be supernatural to 
psychology — the religious or "spiritual." Our first 
task is to examine impartially the facts gathered by 
comparative religion. This youthful science has suf- 
fered from the lack of any really adequate system of 
classification. The system which naturally suggests 
itself is the one used by historical sociology, for we 
find that, to a large extent, religious ideas run parallel 
to and are colored by the type of social organization. 
Professor Giddings has at least suggested this method. 
Robertson Smith and Frazer grasped some ends of it. 
But most of the men who have devoted themselves to 
comparative religion, such as the great teachers in Hol- 
land and France, were trained as theologians rather 
than as sociologists and so missed it entirely. 

Let me illustrate this sociological classification of 
religion by typical examples. The many transitional 
stages are omitted for lack of space. It should be re- 
membered also that all classifications in the field of 
sociology must be general rather than precise. Cul- 
tural ideas overlap the various social or economic 
stages. The institution of totemism, for example, is 
found among the low hunting peoples of Australia, the 

[317] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

more developed hunting tribes of North America, the 
agricultural Polynesians and Pueblos, among pastoral 
tribes of central Africa, and even among some com- 
mercial and industrial peoples of India.* Religious 
ideas often overlap in the same way. The connection 
of religion and society is so close however that, on 
studying a new tribe, if we know the stage of society 
we can predict with considerable accuracy the stage 
of religion, and vice versa. 

(a) The primitive stage, a term used merely as a 
comparative to cover various known types of organiza- 
tion and culture, ranging from the horde to the some- 
what developed social organization of the American 
Indians. Whether religion is present throughout this 
stage depends on our definition of religion, but we find 
a circle of ideas, which are closely connected with reli- 
gion in its higher stages. The dominant fact is "ani- 
mism," or the tendency of savages everywhere to 
personify all natural objects and to people the world 
with spirits, resembling themselves but often considered 
as more powerful. 

Our first example will be taken from the tribes 
of North Central Australia, as described by Spencer 
and Gillen. These peoples, living in barren, inaccessi- 
ble hills, have been isolated from external influences 
and preserve their native ideas and customs up to the 
present time. They are divided into tribal groups of 
totem clans and sub-clans. They have no agriculture 

*J. G. Frazer, Totemism and Exogamy, 1910, Vol. IV, 
p. 18. 

[318] 



THE SOCIAL STAGES OF RELIGION 

or domestication of animals, no clothing and no per- 
manent abodes, no word for any number beyond three. 
Altogether these Central Australian tribes are perhaps 
on the lowest plane of culture hitherto known to us. 
Spencer and Gillen were especially fitted for the study 
of these people along scientific lines. As to religion 
or near-religion we may quote as follows :* 

"In the first place, all the tribes believe in the former 
existence of individuals from whom, in some way or 
another, the living members of the tribes are descended. 
. . . All of them possessed powers superior to those of 
the present members of the tribe ; but in no case, so far 
as we could ascertain, is there the slightest indication 
or trace of anything which could be described as ances- 
tor worship. The simple fact is that these Alcheringa 
ancestors are constantly undergoing reincarnation, so 
that this belief, which is common to all of these tribes, 
practically precludes the development of anything like 
ancestor worship. Each of the more important 
amongst these [totemic] ancestors had certain ceremo- 
nies associated with him or her, but the performance 
of these, which takes place from time to time, is in no 
way a form of appeal to the individual in question, 
whom they do not regard (except in one particular in- 
stance in one tribe) as being desirous, or even, as far 
as we could ascertain, able, to help or to injure them, 
except in the most general way." 

The one exception occurs among the Warramunga 

* The Northern Tribes of Central Australia, 1904, pp. 
494-501. 

[319] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

tribe in the case of the Wollunqua totem, "a huge 
snake, still existing at a spot in the Murchison range, 
and capable, if it feels so disposed, of coming out and 
injuring or even destroying the natives. It has actually, 
according to tradition, been known to do so, and there 
can be no doubt but that the series of ceremonies con- 
nected with it are, at least in part, performed with the 
vague idea of pleasing and propitiating it. While they 
have a certain amount of fear of the Wollunqua, yet 
at the same time the men of the totem group believe 
that they are able to control the snake, at least to a 
certain extent." 

"In the Arunta tribe we meet with mischievous 
spirits called Oruntja, who are supposed to wander 
about more especially at night-time. There are certain 
spots, such as a hill close by Alice Springs, near to 
which no native cares to venture after dark, lest the 
Oruntja who dwells there should carry him off under- 
ground. . . . These Oruntja are regarded, however, 
as being mischievous rather than absolutely bad, and 
no attempt is made to propitiate them in any way what- 
ever. During ceremonies concerned with them and 
representing their antics, the natives always evince a 
good deal of merriment, though at the same time they 
take good care to avoid the spots where they lurk. 

"Perhaps, however, the most important spirit indi- 
vidual in the Arunta tribe is Twanyirika, whose voice 
is supposed by the women and children to be heard 
when the bull-roarer sounds. The Arunta have, so 
far as we could find out, no tradition dealing with the 

[320] 



THE SOCIAL STAGES OF RELIGION 

origin of [these sacred stones or slabs known as] the 
Churinga; their Alcheringa ancestors possessed them, 
and behind the Alcheringa the)' do not penetrate. The 
women and children are told that Twanyirika is a 
spirit who lives in wild and inaccessible regions, and 
only comes out when a boy is initiated. During the 
actual operation of circumcision, the bull-roarer sounds 
in the darkness all around the ceremonial ground, and 
the women believe that Twanyirika enters the body of 
the boy and takes him out into the bush, keeping him 
there until he has recovered. While he is there, care- 
fully secluded from the sight of the women and chil- 
dren, he constantly sounds the bull-roarer. As soon as 
the operation is over the elder brother of the youth 
comes up to him with a bundle of Churinga, saying: 
'Here is Twanyirika, of whom you have heard so 
much, they are Churinga and will help to heal you 
quickly; guard them well or else your (blood and tribal 
mothers and sisters) will be killed; do not let them go 
out of your sight, do not let your (blood and tribal 
mothers and sisters) see them; obey your elder brother, 
who will go with you; do not eat forbidden food.' 

"In the Urabunna tribe the sacred stick given to the 
boy is called Chimbaliri. The women and children 
never hear this word, but are taught to believe that the 
sound is the voice of a spirit called Witurna, who takes 
the boy away, cuts out all of his insides, provides him 
with a new set, and brings him back an initiated 
youth." Similar spirits are found in other tribes. 

"It was only on the coast of the Gulf of Carpentaria 

[321 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

that we met with tribes amongst whom there was pres- 
ent the idea of spirit beings who could help or injure 
them. The Binbinga believe that the sky is inhabited 
by two spirits called Mundagadj i, who are ill disposed 
toward the natives. Their bodies are covered with 
fine white down, and instead of arms they have knives. 
They are always anxious to come down and kill and 
eat some black fellow, but are constantly prevented 
from doing so by a friendly spirit called Ulurkura, 
who lives in the woods and watches for the coming of 
the Mundagadj i and stops them. When a man dies 
the Mundagadj i can always be heard singing up in the 
sky, and all three spirits can be seen by the medicine 
men. 

This belief in spirits persists in higher stages, or 
people in higher stages tend to revert to this general 
habit of mind. I take as our. second illustration the 
North American Indians, who in organization and gen- 
eral culture are far in advance of the peoples just men- 
tioned. In their economic development they are still in 
the hunting stage, with some cultivation of the easily- 
grown Indian corn, but they have a full organization 
of clans and tribes and even confederacies. 

Among the many Indian tribes I select the Dakotas 
(Sioux) of Southern Minnesota. We have here for 
the first time in our survey what may properly be de- 
scribed as worship. An early missionary, Rev. Gideon 
H. Pond, says that the quintessence of the Dakota reli- 
gion consists in the word wakan. This word "signifies 
anything which is incomprehensible. The more incom- 

[322] 



THE SOCIAL STAGES OF RELIGION 

prehensible the more wakan. The word is applied to 
anything, and everything, that is strange or mysterious. 
The general name for the gods in their dialect is this, 
Taku Wakan, i. e., that which is w r akan. Whatever, 
therefore, is above the comprehension of a Dakota is 
God. Constantly, he sees gods everywhere. . . . 
Wakan is the one idea of divine essence. The chief, 
if not the only difference that they recognize to exist, 
among all the tens of thousands of their divinities, is 
the unessential one of a difference in the degree of their 
wakan qualities, or in the purposes for which they are 
wakan." The term is applied to the medicine man, 
and to the medicine feast and dance. There is no dis- 
tinction between the classes of good and evil spirits; 
they are all simply wakan. "The Dakotas have an- 
other word to represent spirit, or soul, or ghost, but the 
word w T akan is never used in that sense, though a spirit 
might be wakan. Evidence is also wanting to show 
that the Dakotas embraced in their religious tenets the 
idea of one Supreme Existence, whose existence is ex- 
pressed by the term Great Spirit; this idea was prob- 
ably borrowed from the whites." The idea of a 
Creator figures frequently in Indian mythology, but 
not strictly in Indian religion.* 

The Dakota gods are always male and female, and 
propagate as do men and animals. Thus the Onktehi 
are a family of giants, resembling oxen, and are consid- 
ered the special patrons of the medicine dance. "The 

* Article on Dakota Superstitions, 1866, published in Min- 
nesota Hist. Soc. Collections, Vol. II, p. 215. 

[323] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

dwelling place of the male is in the water, and the 
spirit of the female animates the earth. Hence, when 
the Dakota seems to be praying, chanting or offering 
sacrifices to the water or to the earth, it is to this fam- 
ily of the gods that the worship is rendered. They ad- 
dress the male as grandfather, and the female as grand- 
mother. Hence, also, it is probable, that the bubbling 
springs of water are called the 'breathing places of the 
wakan.' "* The medicine sack owned by the initiated 
is the abode of a wakan which receives a great deal of 
the Dakota's worship. 

Among the Dakotas, as among the Australians, spirit 
worship shades off on the one side into myth-making, 
or primitive philosophy, and on the other into magic, 
which might be described as primitive medicine, though 
it has to do with very much more than disease. Reli- 
gion and magic are grounded in the same general ideas 
about spirits, and the distinction between them is not 
always easy to draw. The Dakota "medicine-lodge" 
appears to have been of late origin, a sort of imported 
free masonry. The medicine man has become practi- 
cally a village priest, and the lodge ceremonies, open 
to both men and women, form the germ, as it were, of 
a community worship. To a certain extent, however, 
magic is a*lways a private matter, about which the indi- 
vidual consults the fetish man much as we today con- 
sult a private practitioner. There is often, especially 
in later stages, a certain opposition between the reli- 
gious leaders of the community and the dealer in magic. 

* Id., 319. 

[324] 



THE SOCIAL STAGES OF RELIGION 

Apart from the rites of the medicine-lodge, the wor- 
ship of the Dakotas consists largely in offerings, to 
express thanks or supplication. In the hunt, certain 
portions of the animal killed will be considered Woh- 
duze to a god, or "taboo." Each young man, as part 
of the ceremony of becoming of age, selects a patron 
animal, which is thereafter Wohduze and must not be 
killed by him. There are also traces of clan "totems" 
among the Dakotas. Sacrifice enters into the sacred 
feasts, like that of the first-fruits. Some of the Da- 
kotas will not partake of any food without offering a 
portion to the gods. Prayer is a frequent form of wor- 
ship. Tunkarij for instance, is a very old god who in- 
habits rocks and stones and is considered the principal 
god of war. Usually a round stone, about the size of 
a man's head, is used for worship. The devout Da- 
kota paints this red, perhaps putting colored swan's 
down on it, and then falls down and worships the god 
supposed to dwell in or near the stone. Another form 
of worship, especially among the western Sioux, is 
Hanmdepi, seeking a dream of revelation from the sun 
or other god. The necessary ecstasy is reached by self- 
mutilation, fasting and wild dances.* 

As Lynd says, "there are no set seasons or times of 
worship. Each Dakota prays to his gods or makes sac- 
rifices to them at such times and in such places as he 
deems best. In most cases, circumstances call forth his 
active religion, which otherwise lies dormant. Dreams 

* James W. Lynd, Religion of the Dakotas. Op. cit., 
150 ft. 

[325] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

are a main source. A brave dreams repeatedly or viv- 
idly of the sun, and straightway he conceives it to be his 
duty to worship that luminary by a Sun Dance. Death 
makes its appearance in a family, and immediately the 
Dakota must propitiate the spirits of darkness by fast- 
ing and sacrifice. The wants of the Indian, also, are 
a prime source of his active religion. One wishes to 
be successful in stealing horses or upon the war path, 
and falls to begging the assistance of the deities 
by self-sacrifice, preceded by fasting, penance, and 
purification."* 

(b) The democratic clan organization, usually met- 
ronymic, where, from a higher culture or some other 
cause, religious belief and practice has been definitely 
modified. The important fact to note is that religion 
is no longer a purely individual matter, as among the 
Dakotas, but an affair of the whole clan or village. 

We may take as our chief example the Samoan 
Islands, where the clan god is thought of in the form 
of an animal or a plant or some other natural object. 
This may be due to the influence of totemism, or it may 
be due to the habit of personifying natural objects out 
of which totemism has grown. Totemism is not so 
universal or so influential as it was believed to be a dec- 
ade or more ago. And Mr. Frazer is undoubtedly cor- 
rect when he says, in his latest work, that totemism as 
such is not a religion and that it only becomes a religion 
on the break-up of totemism. t 

* Id., 170. 

f Totemism and Exogamy, IV, 5. 

[326] 



THE SOCIAL STAGES OF RELIGION 

The Samoan Islanders are divided into villages, each 
composed of perhaps ten to twenty families and from 
three hundred to five hundred people. We may call 
these villages clans, though the distinction is no longer 
of any special value. There is a village chief, the 
office usually being hereditary in one of the families. 
The heads of families — elected, not hereditary — con- 
stitute a governing council. A number of villages are 
united into a district, with a nominal king and a par- 
liament composed of all the heads of families of the 
different villages. The spirit throughout is extremely 
democratic, even communistic. Each family group 
lives together in one or more large houses. 

As among the Dakotas, each Samoan at birth "was 
supposed to be taken under the care of some god, or 
aitu, as it was called. The help of several of these 
gods was probably invoked in succession on the occa- 
sion, and the one who happened to be addressed just 
as the child was born was fixed on as the child's god 
for life." This god had some visible incarnation, 
which the individual honored and protected. "One, 
for instance, saw his god in the eel, another in the 
shark," etc. "A man would eat freely of what was re- 
garded as the incarnation of the god of another man, 
but the incarnation of his own particular god he would 
consider it death to injure or to eat."* 

Gods of the household or family group are also 
found in Samoa (compare under c below). It is not 
easy to determine whether these have arisen as develop- 

* Geo. Turner, Samoa a Hundred Years Ago, 1884, p. 17. 

[327] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

ments of the individual guardian spirits, as survivals of 
original clan gods, or as new creations on the rise of 
the patronymic family. I merely give one suggestive 
example; all the Samoan gods are run in the same 
mould of thought. "O le Auma, the red liver. This 
family god was seen, or incarnate, in the wild pigeon. 
If any visitor happened to roast a pigeon while stay- 
ing there, some member of the household would pay 
the penalty by being done up in leaves, as if ready to be 
baked, and carried and laid in the cool oven for a time, 
as an offering to show their unabated regard to Auma." 

Our special interest in Samoa is in the village wor- 
ship. "Every village," says Turner, "had its god, and 
everyone born in that village was regarded as the prop- 
erty of that god. I have got a child for so-and-so, a 
woman would say on the birth of her child, and name 
the village god. There was a small house or temple 
also consecrated to the deity of the place. Where there 
was no formal temple, the great house of the village, 
where the chiefs were in the habit of assembling, was 
the temple for the time being, as occasion required. 
Some settlements had a sacred grove as well as a tem- 
ple, where prayers and offerings were presented."* 
The priesthood was hereditary in certain families. The 
priest "fixed the days for the annual feasts in honor of 
the deity, received the offerings, and thanked the peo- 
ple for them. He decided also whether or not the 
people might go to war." 

As illustrations of these village gods we must con- 

*ld., 18. 

[328] 



THE SOCIAL STAGES OF RELIGION 

tent ourselves with the following examples from Tur- 
ner's list: "Fanonga, Destruction. This was the 
name of a war-god, and supposed to be incarnate in 
the Samoan owl. In time of war, offerings of food 
were presented to a pet one which was kept for the 
purpose. If it flew about above while the troops were 
walking along below that was a good omen; but if it 
flew away in the direction of the enemy it was sup- 
posed to have left the one party and gone to join the 
other, and therefore a calamity. At the beginning of 
the annual fish festivals, the chiefs and people of the 
village assembled round the opening of the first oven, 
and gave the first fish to the god. A dead owl found 
under a tree in the settlement was the signal for all 
the village to assemble at the place, burn their bodies 
with firebrands, and beat their foreheads with stones 
till the blood flowed, and so they expressed their sym- 
pathy and condolence with the god over the calamity 
by 'an offering of blood.' He still lived, however, 
and moved about in all the other existing owls of the 
country."* 

"Faamalu, Shade. The name of a village god, and 
represented by a trumpet-shell. On the month for 
annual worship all the people met in the place of pub- 
lic gatherings with heaps of cooked food. First there 
were offerings and prayers to the god to avert calami- 
ties and give prosperity; then they feasted with and 
before their god, and after that any strangers present 
might eat. At the same settlement a marine deity 
*Id., 25. 

[329] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

called Tamauanuu, or Plenty for the land, was wor- 
shipped at the same time. On that day no one dared to 
swim on his back off the settlement, or eat a cocoanut. 
Any one transgressing would have to go to the beach 
and beat his forehead with stones till the blood flowed, 
so as to prevent his being devoured by a shark the next 
time he went to fish. In time of war Faamalu was also 
represented by a fish, the movements of which were 
watched. If it was seen to swim briskly they went to 
battle cheerfully; but if it turned round now and then 
on its back that was a veto on fighting. Faamalu was 
also seen in a cloud or shade. If a cloud preceded them 
in going to battle they advanced courageously; if, how- 
ever, the clouds were all behind they were afraid. In a 
quarrel a mischief-maker would be cursed and given 
over to the wrath of Faamalu. If anything was stolen 
the sufferer would go along the road shouting and call- 
ing on Faamalu to be avenged on the thief. 

"In another district Faamalu was only a war-god, — 
had a temple with a shell in it, and the shell was car- 
ried about with the troops."* We have here the be- 
ginnings of tribal or national religion (see under d 
below). Other examples of this might be given 
from Turner's lists and from Samoan mythology. We 
must allow for considerable borrowing from other 
islands. 

The functional deity is also beginning to appear. 
As an instance I may cite "Fonge and Toafa. These 
were the names of two oblong smooth stones which 

* Id., 26-27. 

[ 330 ] 



THE SOCIAL STAGES OF RELIGION 

stood on a raised platform of loose stones inland of 
one of the villages. They were supposed to be the 
parents of Saato, a god who controlled the rain. 
When the chiefs and people were ready to go off for 
weeks to certain places in the bush for the sport of 
pigeon-catching, offerings of cooked taro and fish were 
laid on the stones, accompanied by prayers for fine 
weather and no rain. . . . Any one passing by casually 
with a basket of cooked food would stop and lay a 
morsel on the stones. When such offerings were eaten 
in the night by dogs and rats, it was supposed that the 
god chose to become incarnate for the time being in 
the forms of such living creatures."* 

The Fiji Islands, adjacent to Samoa, show the tran- 
sition from animal to anthropomorphic deities. To 
quote Frazer's summary : "Dr. Rivers appears to be un- 
questionably right in holding that the sacred animals 
associated with tribes or sub-divisions of tribes in Fiji 
are totems in the process of evolving into gods, and 
that a more advanced stage in this evolution is repre- 
sented by the village deities called tevero, which, 
though no longer conceived as animals, can yet assume 
at pleasure the shapes of those animals with which they 
were formerly identical; while the ancient totemic pro- 
hibition to eat of the totem survives in the rule which 
forbids the worshippers of the village god to partake of 
the particular creature, be it bird, or beast, or fish, into 
which their deity can thus transform himself. Such 
transformations throw light on the fables of ancient 

* Id., 24. 

[331 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

Egypt and Greece, which describe the metamorphoses 
of the gods into animals."* 

This clan stage has left its impress on the history of. 
religion in a number of ways. In the first place, in the 
association of gods and animals. Wherever, for exam- 
ple, we find the god accompanied by a sacred animal, 
we are fairly safe in putting it down as a survival from 
the time when some clan worshipped this animal as its 
god. It is doubtful whether such ideas could have 
arisen at a later stage of culture. They are helped out 
by traditions of were-wolves and other ideas involving 
kinship between animals and men, but these in their 
turn are probably survivals. The popular religion of 
Egypt remained practically on the same stage as that 
of Fiji, the animal god of the nome corresponding with 
that of the Fijian tribe. 

In the case of the metronymic clan, wherever the 
animal-god of the clan became anthropomorphic it 
was apt to take the form of a woman, and many of 
the later goddesses and their worship are really sur- 
vivals from this stage. As Robertson Smith has said: 
"Divine motherhood, like the kinship of men and gods 
in general, was to the heathen Semites a physical fact, 
and the development of the corresponding cults and 
myths laid more stress on the physical than on the ethi- 
cal side of maternity, and gave a prominence to sexual 
ideas which was never edifying, and often repulsive. 
Especially was this the case when the change in the 
law of kinship deprived the mother of her old preemi- 
* Frazer, op. cit, II, 140. 

[332] 



THE SOCIAL STAGES OF RELIGION 

nence in the family and transferred to the father the 
greater part of her authority and dignity. This 
change, as we know, went hand in hand with the abo- 
lition of the old polyandry ; and as women lost the right 
to choose their partners at will, the wife became subject 
to her husband's lordship, and her freedom of action 
was restrained by his jealousy, at the same time that her 
children became, for all purposes of inheritance and all 
duties of blood, members of his and not of her kin. 
So far as religion kept pace with the new laws of 
social morality due to this development, the independ- 
ent divine mother necessarily became the subordinate 
partner of a male deity; and so the old polyandrous 
Ishtar reappears in Canaan and elsewhere as Astarte, 
the wife of the supreme Baal. Or if the supremacy 
of the goddess was too well established to be thus 
undermined, she might change her sex, as in Southern 
Arabia, where Ishtar is transformed into the masculine 
'Athtar.' But not seldom religious tradition refused to 
move forward with the progress of society ; the goddess 
retained her old character as a mother who was not 
a wife bound to fidelity to her husband, and at her 
sanctuary she protected, under the name of religion, the 
sexual license of savage society, or even demanded of 
the daughters of her worshippers a shameful sacrifice 
of their chastity, before they were allowed to bind 
themselves for the rest of their lives to that conjugal 
fidelity which their goddess despised."* 

In an agricultural community, much of the demo- 

* Religion of the Semites, 1894, p. 58. 

[333] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

cratic clan organization and religion is apt to persist 
long after the clan has become the village, a term of 
geography rather than of kinship. Thus, among the 
early Hebrews and "their Canaanite neighbors in Pal- 
estine, each local community has its Baal, its "high 
place," and its joyous community feast in which the 
god is supposed to take part. 

(c) The patronymic stage, as fully developed, 
which tends to reshape religious ideas on the model of 
paternal authority. This tendency shows itself in three 
principal directions. 

I. Household worship. This is unknown until the 
patronymic stage and the rise of what may truly be 
called the family. Among the Samoans we have al- 
ready noted a simple form of such worship. "The 
father of the family was the high-priest, and usually 
offered a short prayer at the evening meal, that they 
might all be kept from fines, sickness, war, and death. 
Occasionally, too, he would direct that they have a 
family feast in honor of their household gods; and 
on these occasions a cup of their intoxicating ava draft 
was poured out as a drink-offering. They did this in 
their family house, where they were all assembled, sup- 
posing that their gods had a spiritual presence there 
as well as in [their incarnations]. Often it was sup- 
posed that the god came among them and spoke 
through their father or some other member of the fam- 
ily, telling them what to do in order to remove a pres- 
ent evil or avert a threatened one. Sometimes it would 
be that the family should get a canoe built and keep it 

[334] 



THE SOCIAL STAGES OF RELIGION 

sacred to the god. They might travel in it and use it 
themselves, but it was death to sell or part with a canoe 
which had been built specially for the god."* This 
household worship continues in various parts of the 
world, as in the teraphim which Rachel carried away 
from her father Laban, and in the goddess of the 
hearth in Greek and Roman families. 

Another form of household worship appears early, 
either side by side with the other or superseding it. I 
refer to the so-called worship of ancestors. Practically 
all savage people have a veneration for the dead, aris- 
ing from a very lively sense of the good or evil which 
a departed spirit may do if he chooses to return to the 
world on a visit. Patronymic man begins to have an- 
cestors, whom he not only fears but also respects, as 
he was accustomed to do in life. It is an open question 
how far this homage can be considered as the worship 
of a supernatural being. The worshipper often dis- 
tinguishes between ancestors and gods, and each class 
has its appropriate cult. But the line between the two 
is a shadowy one and is often crossed. 

Our contemporary example is taken from the Ama- 
zulu of Natal, a feudal people properly belonging in 
the next stage. The spirits of the dead (Amatongo or 
Amadhlozi) are honored under the form of the snake. 
"When a snake comes into a house it is not killed; they 
say, 'It is the Idhlozi of So-and-so,' mentioning the 
name of a man who is dead; it is said that the snake 
came out of him at his death. It is left, and remains 

* Turner, op. at., 18. 

[335 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

always in the house. They take a goat and sacrifice it, 
sacrificing to the snake. No one sees it when it goes 
away. When black men are on a journey they honor 
the snake. When a man is injured and gets well, he 
kills a bullock, for he thanks the Idhlozi, thinking that 
it has saved him. When a man obtains cattle also, he 
thanks the snake, thinking it is the snake which has 
given him many cattle. A man whose father is dead, 
when he is about to kill a bullock, worships his father, 
praying him to look on him continually, and give him 
all that he wishes, and give him cattle and corn, — 
everything. When a man is ill, they inquire of 
diviners; the diviner comes and tells them to eat a bul- 
lock. And they eat a bullock, the diviner saying that 
the man will get well. If when they have eaten the 
bullock he does not get well, but dies, they say, 'He is 
summoned by those who are beneath.' They say 'He 
has been killed by the Amadhlozi, because they wish 
the man to go and dwell with them.' "* 

"Black people do not worship all Amatongo indif- 
ferently, that is, all the dead of their tribe. Speaking 
generally, the head of each house is worshipped by the 
children of that house; for they do not know the an- 
cients who are dead, nor their laud-giving names, nor 
their names. But their father whom they knew is the 
head by whom they begin and end in their prayer, for 
they know him best, and his love for his children ; they 
remember his kindness to them whilst he was living; 

* Native relation, given by H. Calloway, Religious System 
of the Amazulu, Part I, 1868, p. 12. 

[336] 



THE SOCIAL STAGES OF RELIGION 

they compare his treatment of them whilst he was liv- 
ing, support themselves by it, and say, 'He will still 
treat us in the same way now he is dead. We do not 
know why he should regard others besides us; he will 
regard us only.' "* The reader may put beside this 
the familiar descriptions of the ancestor worship of 
China, or the worship of the Lares in ancient Rome. 

2. Remodelling of older gods. When, at any stage 
of organization, the patronymic idea becomes strong, 
a female divinity is apt to become male, as already 
noted. 

3. The rise of tribal or district gods on the general 
model of the chieftainship. Some of the gods of the 
Baganda of Central Africa illustrate this tendency. 
To give a single example : "Kibuka has five priests. At 
one time Kibuka is said to have been sent by his father 
Wanema [another god] to assist one of the kings in a 
war against the Banyoro. When he arrived on the 
battle-field he went up into a cloud and cast down his 
assegais and shot arrows to the great discomfort of the 
enemy." They discovered the secret however and the 
next day shot arrows into the cloud, mortally wound- 
ing Kibuka, "whereupon he fled away some distance 
and died under a tree; later one of his priests found 
him and buried the body secretly, and making up a roll 
he placed it in a leopard skin and said it was Kibuka; 
the bundle was carried to Kibuka's hut, where it still 
remains. From that time he never went out again to 
battle in person, only the horn containing his ghost 

* Id., Part II, 1869, p. 144. 

[ 337 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

has been sent."* It would be of no special importance 
to know whether this is a case of a chief becoming a 
god, or of a god becoming a chief. The mental process 
involved in either case is much the same, and one that 
we should not be likely to find at an earlier stage. The 
Baganda are in the feudal stage (d below) ; the San- 
tals of Bengal are a good example of independent pa- 
tronymic tribes or clans. 

Among the Amazulu we find not only ancestor wor- 
ship but the worship of departed chieftains or kings. 
"It is said that one becomes a wasp; another a kind of 
lizard; another an imamba [a poisonous snake]; an- 
other a green imamba; but the greater number turn 
into the umthlwazi [a harmless snake], which may be 
green or brown. . . . The imamba are said especially 
to be chiefs, the lizards, old women, and the umthl- 
wazi, common people. "f 

An American missionary, Lewis Grout, says: "Lions 
and elephants are sometimes looked upon as an embodi- 
ment of the spirit of their departed friends, especially 
their chieftains. Hence, should one of these animals 
visit their kraal, pass near or round it, without doing 
them any harm, they would say they had been favored 
with a visit from the spirit of their royal ancestor. To 
these shades of the dead, especially to the ghosts of 
their great men, as Jama, Senzangakona, and Chaka, 
their former kings, they look for help, and offer sacri- 
fices ; that is, slaughter cattle to them, and offer a sort 

* J. Roscoe, Journal of the Anthropol. Inst, of Great Brit., 
Vol. XXXII, p. 74. 

t Calloway, op. cit., Part II, p. 200. 

[338] 



THE SOCIAL STAGES OF RELIGION 

of prayer, in time of danger or distress."* There is a 
similar apotheosis of departed kings in Buganda, the 
king's spirit being supposed to reside in his lower jaw, 
which is carefully preserved. 

(d) The patronymic confederation or kingdom, 
and the rise of a national religion, side by side with 
local cults. This national religion may be of several 
types. 

i. In the first type, as on the island of Tahiti, an- 
other set of gods has been added to the worship of the 
tribe or district. As described by Ellis, the Tahitians 
are governed by a hereditary king and hereditary dis- 
trict chiefs, under whom are the landed aristocracy, 
other freeholders, and various classes of dependents. 
Traces of earlier clan and tribal organization seem to 
have disappeared. The belief in spirits persists, and 
the witch-doctor does a thriving business. Every fam- 
ily of any antiquity has its own shrine and family god, 
the head of the family serving as priest. Each district 
has its temple, with a hereditary priesthood. There 
are gods of particular localities and professions, a 
series of demi-gods, "often described as having been re- 
nowned men, who after death were deified by their de- 
scendants" ; hero gods of the sea and air, etc. As Ellis 
says: "Religious rites were connected with almost every 
act of their lives. An ubu or prayer was offered before 
they ate their food, when they tilled their ground, 
planted their gardens, built their houses, launched their 
canoes, cast their nets, and commenced or concluded a 

* Zulu-Land, 1864, P- x 37« 

[339] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

journey. The first fish taken periodically on their 
shores, together with a number of kinds regarded as 
sacred, were conveyed to the altar. The first-fruits 
of their orchards and gardens were also taumaha, or 
offered, with a portion of their live-stock, which con- 
sisted of pigs, dogs, and fowls, as it was supposed death 
would be inflicted on the owner or the occupant of 
the land from which the god did not receive such 
acknowledgment."* 

Our special interest at this point is in the more dis- 
tinctly national worship. A considerable pantheon has 
been developed in the mythology of Tahiti and neigh- 
boring islands and island groups. There are ten gods 
of the first order, with various functions, headed by 
Taaroa, as creator or father; a second order of gods 
serve as heralds between the gods and men; the third 
order seems to have been the descendants of Raa, an 
independent divinity of the first order; and there is a 
fourth or intermediary order, headed by Oro. The lat- 
ter, the great national god of Tahiti and some other 
islands, was the son of Taaroa and his wife. "Oro 
took a goddess to wife, who became the mother of 
two sons. These four male and two female deities 
constituted the whole of the highest rank of divin- 
ities, according to the traditions of the priests of 
Tahiti."! 

There are a number of national temples, the priests 

of which live in the temple precincts and form a dis- 

*Wm. Ellis, Polynesian Researches, 1831, Vol. I, pp. 327, 
35o. 
•fid., 324. 

[ 340 ] 



THE SOCIAL STAGES OF RELIGION 

tinct class. The shrines in the temple were large 
pyramidal structures, made up of a series of steps. In 
front of these were erected the altars, and the idols in 
which the gods were supposed to be present. "The 
idols of Tahiti were generally shapeless pieces of wood, 
from one to four feet long, covered with cinet of cocoa- 
nut fibers, ornamented with yellow and scarlet feathers. 
Oro was a straight log of hard casuarina wood, six 
feet in length, uncarved, but decorated with feathers. 
The gods of some of the adjacent islands exhibited a 
greater variety of form and structure-"* 

The worship consisted in preferring prayers, a num- 
ber of gods often being invoked in succession, in pre- 
senting offerings and in sacrificing victims. The 
offerings consisted of every kind of valuable property — 
not only food but manufactured articles as well. Ani- 
mals were sacrificed in whole or in part, and remained 
on the altar until decomposed. Human victims were 
also sacrificed in time of war or calamity, during the ill- 
ness of their rulers, at the erection or rebuilding of 
their temples, and at great national festivals. The vic- 
tim was usually killed elsewhere and the body brought 
to the temple. Portions of the hair took the place of 
the blood used in other sacrificial systems. 

The origin of the various national gods of Tahiti 
is, in most cases, lost in obscurity. Some of them are 
evidently deified chiefs or heroes. Others must be clan 
gods, originally animal, which became anthropomor- 
phic. The old habit of personifying nature and peo- 

* Id., 354- 

[341] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

pling it with spirits must still tend to replenish the 
supply of divinities. Other gods may be abstractions — 
functions, political divisions, characters in mythologi- 
cal stories and genealogies — which gradually have be- 
come concrete. 

2. A second type of national religion shows a single 
god or pair of gods. In some cases this may be due 
to the fact that the worship of the king's family, clan 
or tribe was imposed on the nation. In other cases, as 
in Israel, the single national god antedates the kingship. 
Psychologically the process, whatever it was in detail, 
appears to resemble the development of the chieftain- 
god in the last stage. I do not recall any but historical 
examples. "Among the Semitic peoples which got be- 
yond the mere tribal stage and developed a tolerably 
organized state, the supreme deity was habitually 
thought of as king. . . . We find that the Tyrian Baal 
bears the title of Melcarth, 'king of the city,' or more 
fully, 'our lord Melcarth, the Baal of Tyre/ and this 
sovereignty was acknowledged by the Carthaginian 
colonists when they paid tithes at his temple in the 
mother city; for in the East tithes are the king's due. 
Similarly, the supreme god of the Ammonites was Mil- 
kom or Malkam, which is only a variation of Melek, 
'King.' "* Moab has its Chemosh, very much as Israel 
has its Yahweh. It is quite possible that in some of 
these cases further knowledge would disclose a group 
of national gods, as in Tahiti. 

3. A third type or process is syncretism, the gradual 

* Religion of the Semites, 66. 

[342] 



THE SOCIAL STAGES OF RELIGION 

amalgamation of deities originally distinct. This is 
likely to take place at any stage, but is especially 
noticeable with the growth of nationality or with the 
consolidation of two nations or civilizations, whether 
peacefully or through conquest. The Ewe peoples of 
the Slave Coast of West Africa, in addition to district 
gods — largely animal — and local deities associated with 
natural objects, have a number of national gods. These 
are functional or natural: firmament, lightning, phal- 
lus, etc. A comparison with the less-developed Tshi 
people of the neighboring Gold Coast shows that these 
gods are abstractions of the functions of countless local 
gods. That is, the Ewe gods have been aggregated, 
while those of the Tshi are still segregated. Five or 
six hundred local lightning gods are blended into one 
general lightning god, who is everywhere represented 
by the same sort of image and is served with the same 
ceremonies. As a consequence of this blending, "there 
ensues a loss of the idea which caused a belief in the 
existence of the individual local god to arise. These 
local gods, originally held to be the indwelling spirits 
of certain local features or local phenomena, are sev- 
ered from their local habitats and centered in one gen- 
eral god, with the inevitable result that the notion of 
the indwelling spirit disappears. Thus we find on the 
Slave Coast that the general deities are not the indwell- 
ing spirits of natural features; they are beings inde- 
pendent of any tangible abode."* Another interesting 
thing about the Ewe religion is that it represents a 

* A. B. Ellis, The Ewe-speaking Peoples, 1890, p. 27. 

[343 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

transition from stage b to stage d, without pass- 
ing through stage c. The people are in a process of 
change from mother-kin to father-kin. 

The process was exactly similar for ancient Greece. 
To quote from Professor Fairbank's recent work: "We 
must assume that the conception of nature-spirits, of 
souls, of 'departmental gods,' was originally much the 
same for different communities, but nowhere quite the 
same, and that in the larger civilization which devel- 
oped the gods of each type grew richer and more varied 
with elements drawn from different communities, dif- 
ferent regions in the Greek world, and different sources 
outside of Greece. In this sense the Zeus or the 
Poseidon of the epic was a 'composite photograph' of 
earlier Zeuses and Poseidons. The process was one of 
synthesis or of 'condensation,' to use the word of Ed- 
uard Meyer. But if the Zeus of Homer was a com- 
posite photograph of earlier forms of the god, this is 
only half the story. "Each cult of Zeus continued to 
emphasize those peculiar characteristics of the god 
which it had always emphasized, in addition to the 
characteristics generally adopted, with the result that 
the Zeus of each cult remained individual and was 
known in worship by an added individual name. Zeus 
Lykaios worshipped with human sacrifice in Arcadia, 
Zeus Trophonios worshipped in a Boeotian cave, Zeus 
Meilichios conceived now in human form, now in the 
form of a serpent, are extreme examples of this indi- 
vidualization preserved in worship. Each local cult 
modified the conception of Zeus for a narrower or 

[344] 



THE SOCIAL STAGES OF RELIGION 

wider region according to the extent of its influence; 
the god of each local cult was more or less modified 
by the general Greek conception of Zeus. Finally, it 
should be noted that there were some local gods which 
were never brought under any of the general Greek 
gods, and others, like the Zeus Amphiaraus of Oropus, 
who were thought of as distinct beings more often than 
as forms of Zeus."* 

Of syncretism through conquest a single instance 
will suffice. When Khamurabi conquered the Eu- 
phrates valley about 2400 B. C, his own city, Babylon, 
became supreme among the other Babylonian cities. 
Marduk, the patron god of Khamurabi and Babylon, 
became the supreme god. This position had formerly 
been held by the old En-lil or Bel of Nippur. The two 
gods at once began to blend "into one personage, Mar- 
duk becoming known as Bel-Marduk, and finally, the 
first part of the compound sinking to the level of a 
mere adjective, the god is addressed as 'lord Mar- 
duk,' or 'Marduk, the lord.' The old Bel is entirely 
forgotten, or survives at best in conventional associa- 
tion with Anu and Ea, as a member of the ancient 

triad."t 

4. Instead of syncretizing conflicting deities, men 

may gradually arrange them in an elaborate pantheon 

of relationships, functions and ranks, a process which 

we saw beginning in Tahiti. The royal religion of 

Babylonia is one long illustration of this process. 

* Arthur Fairbanks, Handbook of Greek Religion, 1910, 
p. 212. 

t Jastrow, Religion of Babylonia and Assyria, 1898, p. 118. 

[345] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

(e) The stage of individual leadership, within or 
without national lines. The prophet or reformer is not 
unknown in earlier stages, but his predominating influ- 
ence implies a fairly high degree of culture. In Baby- 
lonia, and still more in Egypt, the priestly theologians 
refine away the crudities of the national mythology, 
give the gods a moral character, systematize them, and 
even. reduce them to a theoretical monotheism. The 
same is true of Brahmanism, and probably of the reli- 
gion of Persia. In Greece the process goes very much 
further, the philosophers doing for the religion of the 
educated a work either constructive or destructive, 
while the mass of the people cling to the old cults, or 
at least to their ritual. The remarkable ethical 
monotheism of the Jewish religion at its highest was 
due to the Hebrew prophets, especially those of the sev- 
enth century B. C. Mohammed built a new religion 
and nationality on the ruins of the old tribal religions 
of Arabia. For Christianity the factor of personal 
leadership has been prominent, not only in its found- 
ing by Jesus, but in the gradual development of its 
theology. Besides the Christianity modelled on 
the teachings of Jesus, there have been countless 
other Christianities, some of them shading off into 
polytheism. 

Further discussion of this stage in the history of reli- 
gion seems unnecessary here. The philosophical, ethi- 
cal or "founded" religions defy classification. Each 
should be studied by itself, the student always remem- 
bering that the reigning theological system may be 

[346] 



THE SOCIAL STAGES OF RELIGION 

something quite different from the beliefs and practices 
of the ordinary worshipper. I have merely introduced 
the reader to the great field of comparative religion. 
The phenomena disclosed to us are numerous and 
important. 



[347] 



CHAPTER XIX 

RELIGION AND PSYCHOLOGY 

'"ir^HIS chapter is intended as an introduction to the 
-■- detailed studies which follow. We must deter- 
mine in a general way the nature of religion, its rela- 
tion to psychology, and the methods to be used in 
further investigation. 

Historical study shows us that religion, like all the 
higher life of man, is an accumulation of ideas. It is 
found in the human mind and nowhere else. There is 
no religion in a church, an altar, a book, although 
these, through long association, may suggest religious 
ideas to the mind of some worshipper. To another 
worshipper they may suggest quite different ideas; a 
particular church building or altar or book may become 
an object of scorn or abhorrence. The history of reli- 
gion furnishes countless instances. An animal or an 
infant gives no evidence of having a religion. Neither 
has it any arts or sciences. The reason for this is 
that an animal or an infant has no power of form- 
ing ideas, or at least ideas of a sufficiently complex 
character. 

Religion, as an accumulation of ideas, necessarily 
varies with the individual, the local community, the 
tribe or nation. The difference between the Austra- 
lian's religion and that of the Samoan, the Tahitian, or 

[348] 



RELIGION AND PSYCHOLOGY 

some one still higher in the scale, is that the former has 
gathered a different set of ideas as to spirits or gods 
and his relation to them. Not only are mythology and 
theology composed of ideas, but all worship, all con- 
duct as affected by religion, is based on the concepts 
formed in the worshipper's mind. 

Whatever the ultimate origin of religious ideas, they 
are acquired through a' process of mental education. 
Why does the Tahitian fisherman pray to a certain 
divinity before launching his canoe? Because his 
father did so before him, and the community does 
so around him. That act of religion is as much a part 
of his education as is the making or handling of the 
canoe itself. 

Religion is the accumulation of ideas about a particu- 
lar side of human life. Without attempting a close 
delimitation of the field, we may say that these ideas 
relate to the soul of man, especially after death, and to 
the spirits supposed to surround man and to control his 
life and that of the universe. The religious man as- 
sumes that such a "spiritual" world exists, very much 
as the scientist assumes that the material world exists, 
or the artist assumes that the beautiful exists. These 
fundamental religious assumptions — the existence of 
controlling spirits, and a future life of some sort for 
the soul — are practically universal until the rise of 
philosophical scepticism. Even when they are formally 
repudiated traces of them are apt to remain in supersti- 
tious feelings or practices. Systems of thought which 
began by being agnostic or anti-religious, such as Bud- 

[ 349 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

dhism, Confucianism, or even Positivism, tend to take 
on religious features. 

These religious ideas may start in the mind of some 
individual genius, or in the social mind of the horde or 
village. On the other hand, they may be borrowed 
from the religious customs of other tribes. Although 
such borrowing is often very extensive, the parallelisms 
of religious thought and practice in various parts of 
the world are due chiefly to the tendency of men to 
think alike, to react in about the same way to the same 
experiences. If savage children could grow up apart 
from older persons, receiving no definite heritage of 
ideas, they would probably form a new religion, just 
as they would form a new language. And in a few 
generations the new religion or language would re- 
semble the old in its general features. 

Religion practically begins afresh with the education 
of each individual child. In one sense, there are as 
many religions in the world as there are people. State- 
ments as to the conservatism of religion are largely 
erroneous. Beliefs and customs, except in rare circum- 
stances of isolation, are constantly changing. A religion 
may be made over in a comparatively few generations. 
Striking instances of this are furnished by the history 
of Christianity or of one of its denominations or local 
churches, by the missionary work of Christianity and 
Mohammedanism, by the spread of Oriental cults in 
the Graeco-Roman world. 

At this point a distinction should be introduced. 
Some sides of religion are more conservative than 

[35o] 



RELIGION AND PSYCHOLOGY 

others. Ideas descriptive of the gods and their actions 
change frequently, with the progress of thought or in 
the mere process of transmission from one mind to 
another. To take a contemporary example, there is 
a vast difference between the God of Lyman Abbott 
and the God of Jonathan Edwards. In later Greece, 
the Apollo of a local cult becomes a St. George. A 
deity will combine a number of characters originally 
belonging to different gods, as frequently happens in 
Assyria. Where the old idea becomes inconsistent, or 
its original meaning is lost, the worshipper adjusts his 
thinking by a myth, which is a new religious idea. The 
Apollo stories become St. George stories. Two distinct 
gods may be married, or thought of as different incar- 
nations of ffhe same deity. 

Rites and customs, on the other hand, and ideas as 
to the sacredness of certain objects, are often remark- 
ably persistent. The Apollo shrine lasts on, with much 
of the old ritual, after the change from Apollo to St- 
George. May-poles are still set up in a few English 
villages, perhaps a thousand years after they have 
ceased to have any real connection with the popular 
religious faith. The Christian worshipper is apt to 
pray toward the east, like his sun-worshipping ances- 
tors. Otherwise intelligent people carry fetishes, and 
decline to start enterprises on certain unlucky days. A 
cabman in St. Petersburg is said to have murdered a 
woman passenger and then refused to eat her lunch, 
because it contained meat and he did not eat meat in 
Lent. 

[35i] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

Many religious ideas undoubtedly originate in expe- 
rience, and persist because they appear to be in accord 
with experience. A simple example is the idea of a 
theophany. "Tradition says that the people of Cape 
Coast first discovered the existence of Djwi-j'ahnu 
[the local deity of Connor's Hill] from the great loss 
which the Ashantis experienced at this spot during 
their attack on Cape Coast on the nth of July, 1824. 
The slaughter was so great and the repulse of the 
Ashantis so complete, that the Fantis, accustomed to 
see their foes carry everything before them, attributed 
the unusual result of the engagement to the assistance 
of a powerful local god," and they set up a cult ac- 
cordingly.* The persistence of such an idea would 
require further theophanies, or at least a strong tra- 
dition of this first theophany, together with the absence 
of counter-influences, such — for example — as new de- 
fects by their enemies, the rise of other popular cults, 
less need felt of supernatural aid, or the undermining 
of the superstition by Christianity. 

Traces of a local cult like that just described may 
persist even in the presence of counter-ideas. Persist- 
ence of this sort, without confirmation from experience 
or even contrary to experience, it is convenient to dis- 
tinguish as "survival." The general law governing 
survivals, in any sphere of thought, is that they become 
more frequent the farther the ideas are removed from 
practical experience and experiment. An English 
farmer will believe that the sun goes round the earth 

* Ellis, Tshi-speaking Peoples, 40. 

[352] 



RELIGION AND PSYCHOLOGY 

long after he has adopted a steam thresher. A Hindu 
will ride on a railway or a tram-car but break caste 
nowhere else. A church lighted by electricity will have 
wax candles burning before the altar. The Ptolemaic 
theory of astronomy, the system of caste, the use of wax 
candles in worship — such ideas survive, in the face 
of advancing civilization, because they are so remote 
from experience that their displacement requires a 
process of reasoning too complex for the average 
man. 

Ideas of a spiritual world have shown remarkable 
persistence. The members of my recent congregation 
were as far removed as possible in material and mental 
culture from the Dakota Indians who possessed the 
same Minnesota Valley a century earlier. But I be- 
lieve the assumptions of immortality and deity were as 
strong among my fellow-worshippers as in an Indian 
village. Their ideas of immortality and deity differ 
widely from those of the Dakotas, and in their religion 
there is very much less of survival and very much 
more of reasoning, but fundamentally their attitude 
toward a spiritual world is the same. They believe 
there is such a world, and they are shaping their life 
to a certain extent by such belief. They believe they 
are in communication with a God, speaking to him and 
receiving his messages and favors. 

It is evident that the presumptions of psychology — 
the survival of the mind of man and the existence of a 
cosmic mind — have become the working hypotheses of 
religion. How are these hypotheses to be tested? As 

[353] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

to the first, the existence of a mind or soul relatively 
independent of organism, any evidence which may be 
brought forward is subject to such a heavy discount as 
to be valueless. Appearances of departed spirits — in 
the transfiguration, for example — like spirit-posses- 
sion and apparitions of the dead, may be explained 
more simply as the projection of the mind's own im- 
ages, or by telepathy. The evidence may in fact be 
good, but we cannot use it in philosophy because the 
argument is logically short-circuited. So with any evi- 
dence that the soul leaves the body to visit distant 
scenes. 

Taking up the second of the religious hypotheses, 
our previous studies show that if there is a cosmic 
mind in communication with the minds of men, such 
communication will come, like suggestion and personal 
influence, through the subconscious rather than the con- 
scious. This distinction greatly restricts the field of 
our investigation. Beliefs, institutions, forms and ob- 
jects of worship, as creations of the conscious person- 
ality, are beyond our province. We need not go 
further into questions of religious encyclopaedia, or 
religious evolution. With the crudity or beauty of 
forms, the truth or falsehood of creeds, we have 
practically nothing to do. Our study must be in 
the field of religious attitude and feeling, of habit 
and habit-forming, of unconscious influences and 
responses. 

Ground has been well broken in this field by Star- 
buck, James, and others. From such writers I have 

[354] 



RELIGION AND PSYCHOLOGY 

drawn much of the material used. But the study of 
the subconscious in religion is so new that I must 
largely marshal my own facts and form my own 
canons for their interpretation. I propose to take up 
the following topics: Communion; Inspiration; Phys- 
ical Effects; Conversion. 

Before bringing any religious facts into court, it will 
be well to lay down certain general rules of evidence. 
No subconscious or conscious effects may be considered 
as evidence of "divine" communication or control until 
we have eliminated: 

Rule i. The possible influence of the surrounding 
crowd or community. Thus, in the early history of 
Kentucky, if a man began to "jerk" in a revival, it is 
natural to suppose that he did so because of the sub- 
conscious influence of others who had "the jerks." 
Again, in our study of religious experience, we must 
confine ourselves to individual rather than to public 
worship. 

Rule 2. We must eliminate the influence (direct or 
telepathic) of another individual. If a priest says: go 
to a certain shrine and you will be cured of your 
lameness, the cure may properly be ascribed to the 
priest's suggestion, rather than to a divine influence 
operating through the shrine. 

Rule 3. We must eliminate, as far as possible, the 
suggestion of a mind to itself, or the projection of its 
own images. Most visions may be explained by such 
suggestion or projection, as may also many answers to 
prayer, physical cures, moral improvements, etc. 

[355] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

In any of the above cases the religious explanation 
might be the true one. My point is simply that our 
philosophic laws of evidence rule it out of court. Phil- 
osophy deals not so much with what is true, as with 
what may be proved true, by inductive reasoning. Men 
after death may turn into animals, witches may ride 
on broomsticks, a rabbit's foot may keep off bad luck, 
but — we don't know it. The simplest explanation of 
the facts, drawn from the facts themselves in their va- 
rious relations, must be allowed to stand until it fails 
any longer to make good. 

My material will be taken from any religion in any 
stage. However much beliefs and forms may differ, 
the subconscious phenomena are largely parallel. All 
religions, from the lowest to the highest, stand or fall 
together. My chief source will necessarily be the expe- 
rience of modern Christians. 

I shall also make use of the religious experience of 
Jesus, and as to this a word of explanation is perhaps 
in order. Jesus the Christ, the Son of God, belongs to 
theology. The question of his nature must be settled, 
like all other questions of thought, not a priori or on 
authority, but from a study of all the facts of Christian 
history bearing on the question. Again, Jesus as a reli- 
gious teacher and reformer belongs largely to a study 
of the conscious, not of the subconscious. But Jesus 
as a religious man, a religious genius, is a proper sub- 
ject for investigation here. The record, though 
scanty, is as satisfactory as in most cases studied before 
the time of Edmund Gurney. A simple comparative 

[356] 



RELIGION AND PSYCHOLOGY 

study* shows that we have the following principal 
sources : ( I ) the Gospel of Mark, which forms the 
framework of the other synoptic gospels, a fresh yet 
stereotyped narrative, transmitted orally and in writ- 
ing, and put in its present form before A. D. 70; (2) a 
parallel document, of about the same date, the "teach- 
ings" common to Matthew and Luke, and probably 
found also in some of the separate material preserved 
in each; (3) independent sources utilized by Matthew 
and Luke, especially the latter; (4) the letters of Paul, 
and other parts of the New Testament, as preserving 
the attitude of the early Christian community, and 
checking (1) and (2); (5) the gospel and epistles 
of John, of later date, rhetorical rather than biograph- 
ical, giving Jesus' attitude on many points, as inter- 
preted to a later generation by a disciple of Jesus or the 
disciple of a disciple. 

From these sources it may not be possible to con- 
struct a biography of Jesus. The exact form of many 
of his teachings remains in doubt, especially as we have 
them only in translations from the Aramaic. The bias 

* The physicist or biologist, entering the field of New Tes- 
tament study, must be impressed by the unscientific character 
of most of the higher (as distinct from lower or textual) crit- 
icism. Where comparative study ceases (it carries us but a 
little way) we are unable to do more than guess, and guess- 
ing is not a scientific procedure. The two great needs are: a 
grounding in the principles of inductive logic, and a will- 
ingness on the part of both radical and conservative to 
acknowledge that they do not know. Curiously enough, in 
Old Testament work, the charge of subjectivity and dogma- 
tism must be brought, not so much against the higher criti- 
cism, where much comparative study is possible, but against 
the textual criticism, most of which is pure guess-work. 

[357] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

of the editor or his source is often very apparent. But 
we can put together a very considerable number of say- 
ings where the form is so original or so well-attested 
that we must have substantially Jesus' words. And, 
more important still for our present purpose, we can 
without difficulty reconstruct many features of Jesus' 
character and his attitude toward God. 



[358] 



CHAPTER XX 

COMMUNION 

WE may begin with mysticism, the supposed sense 
of the immediate presence of the divine. This 
is somewhat general in religion, at least in its later 
stages. I shall cite, from different periods, a number 
of cases where this element has been especially promi- 
nent. We must depend on the words of the mystic 
himself, but these are his attempts to express a (largely 
subconscious) feeling and attitude. In most of the 
cases cited we have some knowledge of the individual's 
life by which to check his words. 

As already stated, almost all the examples must be 
from Christianity. Our historical knowledge of other 
religions is, with a few exceptions, derived from anony- 
mous and impersonal literature. When the Rig Veda 
says: "Hear this my call, oh Varuna; be merciful to me 
today; for thee, desiring help, I yearn," we do not 
know who is speaking, or how far he is voicing a per- 
sonal experience. And for contemporary Hinduism or 
Mohammedanism or Parseeism, no Starbuck has yet 
arisen. 

There can be no doubt that the mystical element 
was strongly developed in Jesus. It comes out in con- 
trast with the legal and rather materialistic Judaism 
of his time. At twelve years of age he says to his aston- 

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THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

ished parents: "Wist ye not that I must be about the 
things of my Father?"* That term "Father," found 
occasionally in Hebrew prophets and poets as descrip- 
tive of God, is adopted by Jesus to express the direct 
and personal relation of God to his world. Only a 
mystic would use such a phrase. Jesus se.es God every- 
where — in the color of the flowers, in the feeding of 
the birds, in the daily miracle of human existence, in 
all the events of life and history. Jesus' model prayer 
is the respectful but intimate address of a child to his 
Heavenly Father, of a junior partner to the great 
Head of the firm. In the Mark source, his own prayer 
in the olive orchard is given : "Abba, Father, all things 
are possible unto Thee; remove this cup from me: 
howbeit not what I will but what Thou wilt."t The 
phrase "my Father" occurs frequently in Matthew, and 
is found also in Luke. Other fragments of Jesus' 
prayers are given: "I thank Thee, oh Father, Lord of 
heaven and earth, that Thou didst hide these things 
from the wise and understanding, and didst reveal 
them unto babes : yea, Father, for so it was well-pleas- 
ing in Thy sight.":]: "Father, forgive them, for they 
know not what they do."§ "My God, my God, why 
hast Thou forsaken me?"| "Father, into Thy hands 
I commend my spirit."! 

* Luke 2 149. 

f Mark 14:36. The parallel, Matt. 26:39, gives "my 
Father." 
£ Matt. 11:25-26; Luke 10:21. 
§ Luke 23 :34. 

|| Mark 15:34, given in Aramaic. 
1T Luke 23 46. 

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Jesus speaks with the sense of a direct authority from 
God, and not as an ecclesiastical lawyer, hiding behind 
precedents. He claims to be above the Scriptures, to 
be greater than the Temple, to be lord of the Sabbath. 
He commands, he invites, he assumes divine functions, 
like that of forgiving sins. This tone of authority ex- 
cites wonder in the common people, antagonism among 
the Jewish rulers. Jesus apparently would center in 
himself the love and obedience of the world, not only 
during his own lifetime, but through all future ages. 
Thus: "All things have been delivered unto me of my 
Father; and no one knoweth the Son [or, who the 
Son is] save the Father; neither doth any know the 
Father [or, who the Father is] save the Son, and he 
to whomsoever the Son willeth to reveal Him."* "He 
that receiveth you, receiveth me; and he that receiveth 
me, receiveth Him that sent me."t "Every one who 
will confess me before men, him will the Son of man 
also confess before the angels of God: but he who 
denieth me in the presence of men will be denied in 
the presence of the angels of God."^ It seems to have 
been on the charge of blasphemy, based on these and 
similar sayings, that he was condemned by the Jewish 
court. 

This mysticism of Jesus, found in the synoptists, is 
still more prominent in the fourth gospel. This book, 
a mystical classic, is at the same time one of the puzzles 

* Matt. 11:27; Luke 10:22. 
f Matt. 10:40. Cf. Luke 10:16. 

^Luke 12:8-9. Found also in Matt. 10:32-33, with some 
changes in phrasing. Cf. Mark 8:38. 

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THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

of literature. It is impossible to know how far its 
tone of mysticism is contributed by the author and how 
far it is due to the influence and words of Jesus. But 
the expressions put in Jesus' mouth would appear to be 
quite in harmony with the picture already gained. 
Among them we note the following: "He that sent me 
is with me, He hath not left me alone : for I do always 
the things that are pleasing to Him."* "I and the 
Father are one."t "Believest thou not that I am in 
the Father, and the Father in me? The words that I 
say unto you I speak not from myself : but the Father, 
abiding in me, doeth His works."^ "Even as the 
Father knoweth, me, and I know the Father."§ "Even 
as the Father hath loved me, I also have loved you."|| 
"All things that are mine are Thine, and Thine are 
mine."1F "I came out from the Father and am come 
into the world: again, I leave the world and go unto 
the Father."** 

Paul is a mystic. He has heard a divine call. ft He 
sustains the closest possible relation with the ascended 
Christ, as representing God. Christ speaks and works 
through him.^ "To me to live is Christ."§§ "I have 
been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who 

* John 8 :29- 
1 10:30. 
£14:10. 
§ 10:15. 

1(15:9. 

IT 17:10. 

** 16:28. 

ft Gal. 1 : 12. 

tt E.g. 1 Cor. 7:10; Rom. 15:18. 

§§ Phil. 1:21. 

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live, but Christ liveth in me. And that life which I 
now live in the flesh, I live in faith, the faith which is 
in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself 
up for me."* "He hath said unto me, My grace is 
sufficient for thee."t "I know Him whom I have 
believed."^ 

Plotinus, the eclectic philosopher of the third cen- 
tury, says: "Since God admits no Diversity into him- 
self, he is always present; and we become present to 
him whenever we put away Diversity from us. He 
does not seek us, as though he were forced to live for 
us; but we seek him and live for him. Although in- 
deed we are ever revolving around him, we do not see 
him continually: but as a choir of singers which turns 
around the supreme Master may for a short while be 
distracted from contemplation of the Master, and blun- 
der in the harmony, yet when they turn to him then 
everything is perfect once again, thus do we always re- 
volve around God, even when we forget about it. But 
when we look towards him again, then is our utmost 
wish crowned, and we sing to him a Divine song, 
ever revolving around him." "Whoever has once seen 
the Divine understands what I mean ; how, beyond, the 
soul flourishes into another life ; and, on going right up 
to God — nay, on having already gone up to God, thus 
has achieved a share in God, and thus knows for itself 
the presence of the Choir-leader of veritable life." 
Plotinus attained this ecstatic union four times during 

* Gal. 2 :2o. 
f2 Cor. 12:9. . 
if. 2 Tim. 1 :i2. 

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THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

the years Porphyry lived with him, and considered it 
an objective fact.* 

Passing over the speculative mysticism of the me- 
dieval period, we come to Ruysbroek. From the active 
life, the spirit rises to the inner and finally to the con- 
templative life. "In this embrace and essential unity 
with God all devout and inward spirits are one with 
God by loving immersion and melting away into Him. 
... In this pimple and intent contemplation we are 
one life and one spirit with God. And this I call the 
contemplative life. In this highest stage the soul is 
united to God without means; it sinks into the vast 
darkness of the Godhead. "t 

St. Teresa, besides experiencing occasional raptures 
and visions rivalling those of Plotinus, found in prayer 
a frequent access to the Divine. Her description of 
what she calls the fourth degree of prayer should be 
one of the classics of the subconscious, as well as of 
devotion. "The soul, while thus seeking after God, is 
conscious, with a joy excessive and sweet, that it is, as 
it were, utterly fainting away in a kind of trance: 
breathing, and all bodily strength, fail it, so that it can- 
not even move the hands without great pain; the eyes 
close involuntarily, and if they are open, they are as 
if they saw nothing; nor is reading possible, — the very 
letters seem strange, and cannot be distinguished, — the 
letters, indeed, are visible, but, as the understanding 

* Enneads, VI, 9 :8, 7 ; trans, by Guthrie, Philosophy of 
Plotinus. 

f De Ornatu Spiritualium Nuptiarum, trans, based on 
Inge, Christian Mysticism, 170. 

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furnishes no help, all reading is impracticable, though 
seriously attempted. The ear hears ; but what is heard 
is not comprehended. The senses are of no use what- 
ever, except to hinder the soul's fruition; and so they 
rather hurt it. It is useless to try to speak, because it is 
not possible to conceive a word; nor, if it were con- 
ceived, is there strength sufficient to utter it; for all 
bodily strength vanishes, and that of the soul increases, 
to enable it the better to have the fruition of its joy. 
Great and most perceptible, also, is the outward joy 
now felt. . . . He who has had experience of this will 
understand it in some measure, for it cannot be more 
clearly described, because what then takes place is so 
obscure. All I am able to say is, that the soul is rep- 
resented as being close to God, and that there abides a 
conviction thereof so certain and strong, that it cannot 
possibly help believing so. . . . In the beginning, it 
happened to me that I was ignorant of one thing — I did 
not know that God was in all things: and when He 
seemed to me to be so near, I thought it impossible. 
Not to believe that He was present, was not in my 
power; for it seemed to me, as it were, evident that I 
felt there His very presence."* 

Here is another introspection of great interest. "I 
used to have at times, though it used to pass quickly 
away — certain commencements of that which I am 
going now to describe. When I formed those pictures 
within myself of throwing myself at the feet of Christ, 

* Autobiography, trans, by David Lewis, London 1904, pp. 
139 #• 

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THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

and sometimes even when I was reading, a feeling of 
the presence of God would come over me unexpectedly, 
so that I could in no wise doubt either that He was 
within me, or that I was wholly absorbed in Him. It 
was not by way of vision; I believe it was what is 
called mystical theology. The soul is suspended in such 
a way that it seems to be utterly beside itself. The 
will loves ; the memory, so it seems to me, is as it were 
lost; and the understanding, so I think, makes no re- 
flections — yet is not lost: as I have just said, it is not at 
work, but it stands as if amazed at the greatness of 
the things it understands."* 

Inge has called attention to the fact that the great 
mystics, far from being unpractical dreamers, have been 
keen, energetic and influential. "Their business capac- 
ity is specially noted in a curiously large number of 
cases. For instance, Plotinus was often in request as 
a guardian and trustee; St. Bernard showed great gifts 
as an organizer; St. Teresa, as a founder of convents 
and administrator, gave evidence of extraordinary prac- 
tical ability; even St. Juan of the Cross displayed the 
same qualities; John Smith was an excellent bursar of 
his college ; Fenelon ruled his diocese extremely well ; 
and Madame Guyon surprised those who had dealings 
with her by her aptitude for affairs. Henry More was 
offered posts of high responsibility and dignity."f 

As examples of English mystics, Inge and others 
have overlooked the great Puritan leaders, in whom 

* Id., X, i. 

f W. R. Inge, Christian Mysticism, 1899, p. xi. 

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the strain of mysticism was very strongly developed. 
Oliver Cromwell, for instance, felt himself to be from 
moment to moment in the presence of God and acting 
under his guidance. I have marked the same in new- 
world Puritans, from William Bradford to Stonewall 
Jackson. Underneath the stoicism and the practical 
shrewdness has been an unsuspected emotional nature: 
a human tenderness and a lively sense of the divine. 

George Fox might properly be classed among the 
Puritans. We find in him much the same combination 
of business shrewdness and good judgment, abstemious- 
ness, restraint in ordinary speech (not in denunciation) 
and inward fire. As illustrating his more normal 
mystical experiences, I select the following. At Cov- 
entry, going to visit the jail, "the word of the Lord 
same to me, saying, 'my love was always to thee, 
and thou art in my LOVE.' And I was ravished with 
the sense of the love of God, and greatly strength- 
ened in my inward man."* 

Coming to modern times, we hear Henry Ward 
Beecher saying: "Christ stands my manifest God. All 
that I know is of him, and in him. I put my soul into 
his arms, as, when I was born, my father put me into 
my mother's arms. I draw all my life from him. I 
bear him in my thoughts hourly, as I humbly believe 
that he also bears me. For I do truly believe that we 
love each other ! — I, a speck, particle, a nothing, a mere 
beginning of something that is gloriously yet to be 
when the warmth of God's bosom shall have been a 

* Journal, Philadelphia ed., 79. 

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THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

summer for my growth; — and he, the Wonderful 
Counsellor, the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, 
the Prince of Peace!"* 

This sense of the divine, so strongly developed in 
the religious "genius," is almost equally common among 
the rank and file of the religious. ( I refer merely to in- 
dividual experiences, communion with the deity in pub- 
lic worship being excluded under Rule i in Chapter 
XIX.) Of thirty-five men and seventeen women 
questioned by Professor Coe as to the permanent ele- 
ment in their religious life, twenty men and seventeen 
women emphasized various kinds of satisfactory feeling, 
twenty-eight men and twelve women putting emphasis 
on the ethical side of religion. t 

Answers like these were given to Starbuck's similar 
questionnaire: "I have the sense of a presence, strong, 
and at the same time soothing, which hovers over me. 
Sometime it seems to enwrap me with sustaining arms. 
God is a personal Being, who knows and cares for His 
creatures." "I have often a consciousness of a Divine 
Presence, and sweet words of comfort come to me." 
"I feel the presence of Jesus in me as life, force and 
divinity." "I have a sense of the presence of a living 
God." "I have heightened experiences when God 
seems very near." "I have a sense of a spiritual pres- 
ence in the world." "My soul feels itself alone 
with God, and resolves to listen to His voice in 
the depths of spirit. My soul and God seek each 

* Lyman Abbott, Henry Ward Beecher, 1903, p. 14. 
t Geo. A. Coe, The Spiritual Life, 1900, pp. 252 ff. 

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other. The sublime feeling of a presence comes over 



me. 



Starbuck gives the following percentages! for the re- 
ligious feelings experienced among adults, in the cases 
studied (one hundred and twenty females and seventy- 
two males). 

Female Male 
Feelings per cent per cent 

Dependence 27 36 

Reverence ....... 25 37 

Oneness with God, Christ, etc. ... 27 29 

Faith 17 23 

Blessedness ....... 13 13 

Peace 7 4 

Unclassified ....... 14 20 

None 5 1 

The mystical experience may be more or less contin- 
uous. On the other hand, it may come only once or 
twice in a lifetime. Thus James gives the following 
from Stafbuck's manuscript collection, the case being 
that of a man of twenty-seven. "I have on a number 
of occasions felt that I had enjoyed a period of inti- 
mate communion with the divine. These meetings 
came unasked and unexpected, and seemed to consist 
merely in the temporary obliteration of the convention- 
alities which usually surround and cover my life. . . . 
Once it was when from the summit of a high moun- 
tain I looked over a gashed and corrugated landscape 
extending to a long convex of ocean that ascended to 
the horizon, and again from the same point when I 
could see nothing beneath me but a boundless expanse 

* Edwin D. Starbuck, Psychology of Religion, 1899, p. 327. 
fid., 332- 

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THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

of white cloud, on the blown surface of which a few 
high peaks, including the one I was on, seemed plung- 
ing about as if they were dragging their anchors. 
What I felt on these occasions was a temporary loss of 
my own identity, accompanied by an illumination 
which revealed to me a deeper significance than I had 
been wont to attach to life. It is in this that I find 
my justification for saying that I have enjoyed com- 
munication with God."* 

James Russell Lowell tells a friend in one of his 
early letters: "The last cause of joy I will detail more 
at length. I have got a clue to a whole system of 
spiritual philosophy. I had a revelation last Friday 
evening. I was at Mary's, and happening to say some- 
thing of the presence of spirits (of whom, I said, I was 
often dimly aware), Mr. Putnam entered into an ar- 
gument with me on spiritual matters. As I was speak- 
ing the whole system rose up before me like a vague 
Destiny looming from the abyss. I never before so 
clearly felt the spirit of God in me and around me. 
The whole room seemed to me full of God. The air 
seemed to waver to and fro with the presence of Some- 
thing I knew not what. I spoke with the calmness 
and clearness of a prophet."t 

Mysticism has a large place in other religions — for 
example, among the Hebrews — though it is not always 
easy to isolate the individual experience from that of 
the community as a whole. It is the mystical rather 

* Varieties of Religious Experience, 70. 
f Letter to G. B. Loring, Sept. 20, 1842 {cetat 22). Letters, 
I, 69. 

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than the ethical type which is dominant among the reli- 
gious leaders of the Orient. 

Whether similar experiences are to be found among 
people in Christian countries who are not professedly 
religious is an interesting question, not yet studied.* 
There are indications that they are, at least to a certain 
extent. The intellectual content of the mystical expe- 
rience depends of course on one's education. The expe- 
rience has been known to take an unreligious form. 
James cites Walt Whitman in his communion with na- 
ture, and Marcus Aurelius: "Everything harmonizes 
with me which is harmonious to thee, Oh Universe. 
Nothing for me is too early nor too late, which is in 
due time for thee. Everything is fruit to me which thy 
seasons bring, Oh Nature: from thee are all things, in 
thee are all things, to thee all things return. "f Haeckel 
says: "The astonishment with which we gaze upon 
the starry heavens and the microscopic life in a drop of 
water, the awe with which we trace the marvellous 
working of energy in the motion of matter, the rever- 
ence with which we grasp the universal dominance of 
the law of substance throughout the universe — all 
these are part of our emotional life, falling under the 
head of 'natural religion.' "% Somewhat similar expres- 
sions might be given from the English Positivists. 

* The weakness of the standard questionnaires is that they 
have been confined almost entirely to persons professing 
religion, and largely to persons of one type. 

t Varieties of Religious Experience, 84, 44. 
X E. Haeckel, Riddle of the Universe, Eng. trans., 1900, 
P- 344- 

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THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

The feeling of a divine presence finds its fullest 
expression in prayer. To a discussion of certain sides 
of prayer I devote the remainder of this chapter. The 
most valuable contribution of recent psychology is that 
of Miss Strong, in her doctor's dissertation. Starting 
with the rather extreme view of Professor Cooley that 
the- human personality is a constant construction of 
interacting and conflicting selves, she considers prayer 
as the direct interaction of two selves, or personal ideas, 
"arising simultaneously in consciousness as the result 
of a tension. The end sought is the establishment of 
a wider self. One of these selves or personal ideas is 
the me, or self of immediate purpose and desire; the 
other is objectified as alter. The alter is, as object, the 
necessary means to the desired end, and this end is 
always another self, differing both from the me and 
the alter, and varying infinitely as the particular prob- 
lem varies. The alter is, as personal object, an isolated 
element, not yet a part of an effectively systematized 
whole. The alters are not all the same alter; neither 
are the me's the same me."* To some philosophical 
bearings of this theory I shall return in Chapter 
XXIV. 

The earliest use of prayer is undiscriminating. "The 
child does not discriminate his religious needs from his 
other needs. He has no specifically religious needs. 
He wants something, and he makes use of any and 
every means he can think of; prayer is one of those 

* Anna Louise Strong, Prayer from the Standpoint of 
Social Psychology, 1908, p. 21. 

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means. And prayer is a means not very alien to the 
general content of his mental life, which is made up 
largely of personal ideas, to be influenced in 'personal' 
ways. He will use in prayer the same kind of whining 
entreaty, or the same attempts at bargaining, which 
mark his attempts to control other personal forces." 
The prayer of the savage is of the same sort. Much 
of this undiscriminating use of prayer lasts on in adult 
religious life, as in the case of the revivalist who, in 
answer to prayer, obtained a suit of clothes that fitted 
both his person and his means.* 

Discrimination in the use of prayer may take place 
in two ways. With a growing distinction between per- 
sonal and impersonal forces, the use of prayer in certain 
fields is given up because it does not "work." Again, 
there may be a gradual discontinuance of prayer be- 
cause we become ashamed to use it in this way. Many 
college girls confessed with shame that they always 
prayed for success in examinations. "The prayer 
'worked' beautifully; the criticism of its use was not 
scientific but ethical." "I have asked for all kinds of 
things," said another girl, "and I have usually got 
them, as far as I remember, but I always feel so hor- 
ribly ashamed afterwards to think that I bothered God 
with such trifles. I don't do it much now."f 

With some important classes of partially discriminat- 
ing prayer we shall be occupied in the next two chap- 
ters. For the majority of educated persons, the use of 

* Id., 27 f. 

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THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

prayer, whether rightly or wrongly, comes to be limited 
to cases in which the desired result may be obtained 
through an effect on the person praying. "In an arti- 
cle by F. O. Beck,* dealing with the results of a ques- 
tionnaire on the subject of prayer, only five per cent 
of the respondents, all of whom habitually prayed, 
claimed that 'objective' answers to prayer, that is, an- 
swers which affected conditions outside the subject, 
were possible. . . . This doubt in the objectivity of 
prayer-answers is not due to a general decrease of belief 
in the efficacy of prayer, on account of numerous trials 
which have failed. For most of the respondents, to 
judge from the answers given, were people of strong 
religious conviction. The doubt represents rather a 
gradual distinction of the field in which prayer may 
appropriately be applied as a means."t 

In what Miss Strong calls the completely social type 
of prayer — prayer used as a means for the establish- 
ment of a larger self — there are two tendencies. Of 
these the practical or ethical will be taken up in the 
chapter on Conversion. We are concerned here solely 
with the contemplative or aesthetic. 

"Prayers of adoration, of meditation, of joy in the 
greatness of God, come under this head. 'Thou, Oh 
Lord, art from everlasting to everlasting' is a form of 
adoration in which the narrower finite self finds joy 
in the contemplative sharing of a wider, a mightier, an 
infinite life. In prayers of this type the me aims to 

* Am. J. of Relig. Psychol, and Education, I, 115 (1906). 
t Id., 46. 

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lose itself completely in a sympathetic participation in 
the life of the alter, in such a way as to give up entirely 
all thought of an activity or problem of its own. This 
form is seen, at its extreme, in the Buddhist medita- 
tions, the aim of which is complete forgetfulness of the 
finite self. It is seen in less extreme forms in all types 
of religious-aesthetic absorption; it is seen when the 
psalmist, after mentioning with much lamentation his 
Own trials, finds comfort in the fact, not that Jehovah 
will deliver him, but that Jehovah is mighty in Israel, 
and will ultimately win the day in the succeeding gen- 
erations. Such prayer finds its chief end in the prayer- 
state, in the enlargement of the self through the 
contemplative sharing of a wider life, and in the peace, 
rest and joy therefrom resulting."* 

The prayer of contemplation has already been illus- 
trated by our quotations from St. Teresa and other 
mystics. It may take the form of self-surrender, as 
noted above. It is said of St. Francis that, in his early 
ministry, he had such a sense of God's grace that he 
could only say over and over, through the night, "My 
God, my God."" Absorption in the divine may be 
sought as an end in itself, bringing an aesthetic pleas- 
ure, a satisfaction of the spirit, similar to that found in 
music, art or natural beauty. Prayer may be merely 
the craving for a wider companionship. 

The object sought may be rest for the storm-tossed 
spirit. "Prayer," says Herrmann, "is an inward con- 

*Id. f 23. 
t Fioretti, 2. 

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THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

flict, which should normally bring the Christian up 
to a higher plane of the inner life; the sign of the 
attainment of this goal is the dying away of the storm 
of desire into stillness before God."* George Mathe- 
son writes: "In the hour of perturbation thou canst 
not hear the answer to thy prayers. The heart got no 
response at the moment of its crying, — in its thunder, 
its earthquake and its fire. But when the crying ceased 
and the stillness fell, when thy hand desisted from its 
knocking on the iron gate, — then appeared the long- 
delayed reply. — It is only in the cool of the day that 
the voice of the Lord God is heard in the garden. "t 
Again, this blind poet sings: 

"O Love that wilt not let me go, 
I rest my weary soul in thee: 
I give thee back the life I owe, 
That in thine ocean depths its flow 
May richer, fuller be." 

This type of prayer may be used to gain nervous 
rest and recuperation. Its value in this direction has 
been proved by countless worshippers. "With Thee 
is the fountain of life." "All my fresh springs are in 
Thee. "if Jesus, after a strenuous day, was accustomed 
to spend much of the night in prayer, on the solitary 
moor.§ Harriet Beecher Stowe, weighed down by the 
storm of abuse which her book had aroused, found a 
similar refuge in God: 

* Verkehr des Christen mit Gott, quoted by Strong, 92, 

f Times of Retirement, quoted by id., 88. 

JPs. 36:9; 87:7. 

§Mark 1:35; L " k e 5^6; Matt. 14:23. 

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''When winds are raging o'er the upper ocean, 
And billows wild contend with angry roar, 
'Tis said, far down beneath the wild commotion 
That peaceful stillness reigneth evermore. 

"Far, far beneath, the noise of tempest dieth, 

And silver waves chime ever peacefully; 
And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er he flieth, 
Disturbs the sabbath of that deeper sea. 

"So to the soul that knows thy love, O Purest, 

There is a temple peaceful evermore! 
And all the babble of life's angry voices 
Die in hushed stillness at its sacred door. 

"Far, far away the noise of passion dieth, 

And loving thoughts rise ever peacefully; 
And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er he flieth, 
Disturbs that deeper rest, O God, in thee."* 

Religion has proved a frequent relief in sorrow. 
Humanity has found no other relief, except in stoicism. 
J. R. Miller gives the following prayer, when a mem- 
ber of the family has died: "O God, our Father, we, 
Thy children, bow at Thy feet in our sorrow. To 
whom can we go but to Thee? We desire to submit 
ourselves to Thy will. Thou hast laid Thine hand 
upon us, and our hearts are broken. But in our grief 
we will trust Thee. Even so, Father ; for so it seemeth 
good in Thy sight. We thank Thee for the comforts 
that come to us from the gospel, for the words of divine 
promise which whisper themselves into our hearts, for 
the assurance of the sympathy of Christ, who wept 
with His friends in their bereavement, for the blessed 
hopes of resurrection and immortality which come to 
us from the broken grave of the Redeemer. We rejoice 
* Religious Poems, 1867, P- 3 2 - 

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THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

that our loved one who has fallen asleep is with Jesus — * 
absent from the body, but present with the Lord. 
Wilt Thou quiet our hearts and comfort us? Give us 
Thy peace. Bless our broken home circle. May the 
memories of the vanished day stay in our hearts as holy 
benedictions. May our household life be all the 
sweeter for the grief that has touched it. We have no 
words to speak. We would get near to Thy heart ; we 
would creep into Christ's bosom, into the everlasting 
arms, and be still. Bless us with the tenderest blessings 
of Thy love, we ask in the name of Christ, Amen."* 

Again, prayer frequently takes the form of devotion, 
of gratitude, of thanksgiving. "Bless Jehovah, oh my 
soul; and all that is within me, bless His holy name. 
Bless Jehovah, oh my soul, and forget not all His 
benefits: Who forgiveth all thine iniquities; who heal- 
eth all thy diseases; who redeemeth thy life from de- 
struction ; who crowneth thee with loving kindness and 
tender mercies; who satisfieth thy desire with good 
things, so that thy youth is renewed like the eagle."f 
"O God, we thank thee for this universe, our great 
home ; for its vastness and its riches, and for the mani- 
foldness of the life which teems upon it and of which 
we are part. We praise thee for the arching sky and 
the blessed winds, for the driving clouds and the con- 
stellations on high. We praise thee for the salt sea and 
the running water, for the everlasting hills, for the 
trees, and for the grass under our feet. We thank thee 



* Family Prayers, 194. 
tPs. 103:1-5. 



[378] 



COMMUNION 

for our senses by which we can see the splendor of the 
morning, and hear the jubilant songs of love, and 
smell the breath of the springtime. Grant us, we pray 
thee, a heart wide open to all this joy and beauty, and 
save our souls from being so steeped in care or so dark- 
ened by passion that we pass heedless and unseeing 
when even the thornbush by the wayside is aflame with 
the glory of God."* 

Once more, prayer may be used to gain renewed 
faith in God and love toward him. Perhaps the best 
expression of this is found in Christian hymns, consid- 
ered here merely as poems which voice the feeling of 
the author or of the individual worshipper. 



"More love to Thee, oh Christ, 

More love to Thee; 
Hear Thou the prayer I make, 
On bended knee." 

"Oh for a closer walk with God, 
A calm and heavenly frame." 

"May Thy rich grace impart 
Strength to my fainting heart, 

My zeal inspire. . . . 
Oh may my love to Thee 
Pure, warm and changeless be, 

A living fire."f 

* Walter Rauschenbusch, Prayers of the Social Awakening, 
1910, p. 47. 

t Mrs. Prentiss ; Cowper; Ray Palmer. 



[379] 



CHAPTER XXI 
INSPIRATION 

|"N religion the claim is frequently made of an in- 
-** crease of knowledge by direct inspiration from the 
deity or in answer to a prayer, an incantation or a 
ritual act. 

I take up first what might be called religious clair- 
voyance. Leaving aside the various methods practised 
in early religions, I pass at once to a modern instance, 
vouched for by Miss Strong. A college girl had lost 
her physics notebook, and an examination was drawing 
near. "She let it go till the last minute, hoping to find 
it. Then being in some concern, she made it a matter 
of prayer, saying: 'If it is Your will that I try the 
examination without this book as a punishment for my 
carelessness, very well; I will do my best that way. 
But it would make things much easier if I could find 
it.' She immediately felt an impulse to go to a certain 
store in the village. She reasoned with herself, saying: 
'I haven't been there for over a month. I remember 
distinctly the last time I was there and that was before 
I lost the book.' The impulse continued, and taking 
it as an answer to her prayer, she went. As she en- 
tered, a clerk approached her with the book, saying: 
'You left this here ten days ago, and I could not send 
it, not knowing your address.' Then and not till then 

[3801 



INSPIRATION 

the memory of a special visit made to the store by an 
unusual road, flashed across her mind."* 

The difficulty in such a case is not the clairvoyance. 
The records of psychical research are filled with much 
more elaborate examples; often there will be a distinct 
vision of the object in a certain place. The psychologi- 
cal process is clear: the subconscious memory of the 
Visit to the store, emerging when the conscious mind 
stopped trying to remember. The difficulty is in giving 
religion any necessary connection with the clairvoy- 
ance. The function of prayer would appear to be sim- 
ply to give the subconscious a chance. 

From clairvoyance I pass to clairaudience. The 
prophet in all ages has heard voices which he has con- 
sidered divine, or received revelations which he felt to 
be beyond his own mental powers. Similar experi- 
ences are frequent in the life of the ordinary worship- 
per. It will be convenient to divide our cases into 
three classes: those where some new truth has been 
received, those where some practical direction is given, 
and those in which there is the element of prediction. 

New truths are constantly being discovered by reli- 
gious leaders. The study of later Hebrew prophecy 
furnishes instructive examples. Take their idea of God, 
in relation to his people. We have what appear to be 
a series of personal discoveries, growing out of the ex- 
perience of the nation. Amos reaches the thought of 
an ethical and universal God. Hosea, through his do- 
mestic trials, learns to know God's suffering love. 

* Op. ciu, 51. 

[381] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

Isaiah finds in God the Holy One, demanding a holy 
people, even if it were only a remnant. With Jere- 
miah the service of God comes to be individual and not 
merely social. Second, Isaiah saw in the faithful rem- 
nant the servant of Jehovah, suffering for humanity. 

Practically every Hebrew prophecy is prefaced by a 
"Thus saith the Lord." In three instances some de- 
scription is given of the process by which the truth is 
reached. Isaiah sees a vision of Jehovah in his heav- 
enly palace, surrounded by angelic figures chanting: 
"Holy, holy, holy." He is overwhelmed by the sense 
of his own impurity and that of his people. And in the 
vision this uncleanness is removed by a symbolic act. 
Jeremiah, hesitating over his fitness to be God's mes- 
senger, has the divine hand placed on his lips, as a sign 
that God's words will be put in his mouth. Ezekiel, 
prostrate before the majesty and omniscience and 
power of the swiftly-moving Deity, is told to stand 
upon his feet, to receive the Spirit.* 

The symbolic form of the visions of these men is 
more than literary embellishment or "Oriental" imag- 
ery. It is an indication that their discovery of truth, 
like similar discoveries in other fields, takes place 
through the subconscious. Symbolism is characteristic 
of certain levels of the subconscious mind, as we see in 
dreams. Psychologically, the vision of the prophet is 
very similar to Hilprecht's Babylonian priest, or Hud- 
son's vision of a group of diamonds.! The experi- 

* Isa. 6:1-8; Jer. 1:4-10; Ezek. 1 :i — 2:2. 
t See ante, pp. 229, 254. 

[382] 



INSPIRATION 

ences of Isaiah and Ezekiel are paralleled by those of 
Savonarola, of Swedenborg, and of Edward Irving, 
which will repay careful study. An extreme case is 
that of poor William Blake, who considered himself 
merely God's amanuensis. 

Jesus claims to receive truth directly from God. 
"The Son can do nothing of himself, but what he 
seeth the Father doing: for what things soever He 
doeth, these the Son doeth also in like manner." "I 
spake not from myself, but the Father who sent me, 
He hath given me a commandment, what I should say, 
and what I should speak."* While we cannot rely on 
the form of these words, coming as they do from the 
fourth gospel, they undoubtedly give his general atti- 
tude. The temptation in the wilderness, necessarily 
related by Jesus himself, is an example of symbolism, 
and so probably of the subconscious mind emerging 
in the conscious. 

Paul claims to speak by revelation. He carefully 
distinguishes what the Lord says from what is merely 
his own private opinion.f Just how he draws the dis- 
tinction is not clear; the criterion seems to be an objec- 
tive one: the previous revelation in the Scriptures and 
in Christ. The subconscious element was dominant 
in Paul's sudden conversion, which we shall see to be 
the almost universal rule. 

One case of conversion may be described here, as 
relating to the personal discovery of a new truth. It 

*Jno. 5:19; 12:49. 

^E.g. t 1 Cor. 7:8-10, 25. Cf. Gal. 1:8-12. 

[383] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

is that of a lady brought up in entire ignorance of 
Christian doctrine. After being talked to by Christian 
friends, she read the Bible and prayed, and finally the 
suggestions thus implanted flashed upon her conscious- 
ness. "The very instant I heard my Father's cry call- 
ing unto me, my heart bounded in recognition. I ran, 
I stretched forth my arms, I cried aloud, 'Here, here I 
am, my Father.' Oh, happy child, what should I do? 
'Love me,' answered my God. 'I do, I do,' I cried 
passionately. 'Come unto me,' called my Father. 'I 
will,' my heart panted. Did I stop to ask a single 
question? Not one. It never occurred to me to ask 
whether I was good enough, or ... to wait until 
I should be satisfied. Satisfied ! I was satisfied. Had 
I not found my God and my Father? Did he not 
love me? Had he not called me? . . . Since then I 
have had direct answers to prayer — so significant as to 
be almost like talking with God and hearing his an- 
swer. The idea of God's reality has never left me 
for one moment."* 

George Fox has given us this account of the way 
the doctrine of the inner light dawned on his mind. 
"The Lord God opened to me, by his invisible power, 
how 'every man was enlightened by the Divine light of 
Christ.' I saw it shine through all, and that they that 
believed in it came out of condemnation to the light of 
life, and became children of it; but they that hated it, 
and did not believe in it, were condemned by it, though 
they made a profession of Christ. This I saw in the 

* Varieties of Relig. Experience, 69. 

[ 384 ] 



INSPIRATION 

pure openings of the light, without the help of any 
man; neither did I then know where to find it in the 
Scriptures; though afterwards, searching the Scriptures, 
I found it. For I saw in that Light and Spirit which 
was before the Scriptures were given forth, and which 
led the holy men of God to give them forth, that all 
must come to that Spirit, if they would know God, or 
Christ, or the Scriptures aright; which they that gave 
them forth were taught and led by."* From the lan- 
guage used and what we know of Fox's familiarity 
with Scripture, it seems evident that the passage in 
John 12:35-36 had lain dormant in his mind. Its 
meaning and application were organized, as it were, 
below the threshold. 

Beecher's account of his loss of self-consciousness in 
preaching is somewhat parallel to the accounts already 
given of the oratory of Webster and Henry Clay.f "I 
have my own peculiar temperament; I have my own 
method of preaching : and my method and temperament 
necessitate errors. ... I am impetuous. I am intense 
at times on subjects that deeply move me. I feel as 
though all the ocean were not strong enough to be the 
power behind my words, nor all the thunders in the 
heavens ; and it is of necessity that such a nature should 
at times give such intensity to points of doctrine as to 
exaggerate them when you come to bring them into 
connection with a more rounded and balanced view. 
I know it. I would not do this if I could help it; but 
there are times when it is not I that is talking; when 

* Journal, Philadelphia ed., 72. 
t Ante, p. 227. 

[ 385 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

I am caught up and carried away so that I know not 
whether I am in the body or out of the body; when I 
think things in the pulpit that I could never think 
in the study, and when I have feelings that are so dif- 
ferent from any that belong to the lower or normal 
condition that I can neither regulate them nor under- 
stand them. I see things, and I hear sounds, and seem, 
if riot in the seventh heaven, yet in a condition that 
leads me to apprehend what Paul said, — that he heard 
things that it was not possible for a man to utter."* 

Symbolism or the loss of self-consciousness is by no 
means necessary in this field of religion. Probably 
every true Christian minister begins both the prepara- 
tion and the delivery of his sermons with a prayer for 
divine "inspiration," and receives what he considers a 
sufficient answer. In my own case, I can see no real 
difference, however, between sermons and other liter- 
ary composition. Prayer in either case is an aid to 
concentration and to the full utilization of one's sub- 
conscious resources. 

Our second group of cases is even more numerous, 
though we need not linger over them, as the psycholog- 
ical process involved is much the same. Prayers for 
practical guidance bulk very large in the experience of 
the average worshipper. Most Christians feel that their 
destiny is being shaped for them, either constantly or 
in the important crises of their lives. They naturally 
fall back on prayer in times of special difficulty. 

A personal experience of my own will answer as well 

* Patriotic Addresses, 1887, p. 140. 

[386] 



INSPIRATION 

as that of another. I was once lost in the woods in 
the northern peninsular of Michigan, on a fishing ex- 
cursion. It was growing dark, and I seemed likely to 
be compelled to spend the night in the wet forest. I 
stopped and prayed over the matter. Almost at once 
I heard the lowing of a cow. After following the 
sound in the darkness for about half an hour, I stum- 
bled on a barbed-wire fence which marked the bound- 
ary of a settler's clearing. 

Genuine prayers for guidance almost always bring 
the result desired. That is, they prepare us to use the 
ideas, images and impressions which emerge or are 
ready to emerge from below the threshold of ordinary 
consciousness. The prayer itself is always a powerful 
agent of suggestion. In the case described, suggestion 
may have quickened my attention or even my sense of 
hearing. The statesmanship so often shown by reli- 
gious leaders — Hebrew prophets, Christian missiona- 
ries, bishops and other executives — is no doubt largely 
due to their habitual attitude of prayer. And the ordi- 
nary praying man, who goes about his work without 
haste or worry, feeling that his life is being planned for 
him, is likely to be more correct in his decisions and 
quicker to see opportunities.* 

We come now to our third class of cases, those in- 
volving the prediction of future events. Unfortu- 
nately the materials for a proper study of this subject 
are somewhat meager. 

* Some prayers of this class involving other persons it will 
be convenient to postpone until the next chapter. 

[387] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

George Fox tells us in his Journal that, coming to a 
mountain in Wales from which he could see a long 
distance, "I was moved to sound the day of the Lord 
there: and set my face several ways and told John ap 
Johns, a faithful Welsh minister, in what places God 
would raise up a people to set under his teaching: and 
those places he took notice of, and since there has a 
great people risen in those places: and the same thing 
I have been moved to do in many places and countries, 
the which have been rude places, and yet I was moved 
to declare the Lord had a seed in those places, and 
after there has been a brave people raised up in the 
covenant of God and gathered in the name of Jesus."* 
Such a prophecy might easily be a factor in its own 
fulfillment, through the action of telepathy. 

What seems to be a well-authenticated case of pre- 
diction is Isaiah's preaching as to the inviolability of 
Jerusalem. This idea is of course intimately related 
to the rest of his teaching. The city is holy; it is nec- 
essary for the development of the holy people. But the 
prophet's insight is remarkable, and his faith superb. 
The Assyrian army moves across the land, apparently 
irresistible, but Isaiah tells the people not to fear them. 
He sees in the invading army merely Jehovah's instru- 
ment, the axe with which he hews. The prophet pic- 
tures them sweeping up to the very walls of Jerusalem. 
"This very day shall he halt at Nob: he shaketh his 
hand at the mount of the daughter of Zion, the hill of 
Jerusalem. Behold the Lord, Jehovah of hosts, will 

* Journal, Cambridge 1911, I, 281. 

[ 388 ] 



INSPIRATION 

lop the boughs with terror: and the high of stature 
shall be hewn down, and the lofty shall be brought 
low. . . . And there shall come forth a shoot out of 
Jesse, and a branch out of his roots shall bear fruit." 
"Therefore thus saith Jehovah concerning the king of 
Assyria, He shall not come unto this city, nor shoot an 
arrow there, neither shall he come before it with shield, 
nor cast up a mound against it. By the way that he 
came, by the same shall he return. . . . For I will 
defend this city to save it, for mine own sake, and for 
my servant David's sake."* History shows that this 
prediction was substantially fulfilled. 

Strangely enough, by the time of Jeremiah the idea 
that Jerusalem could not be taken had become a dogma 
that apparently stood in the way of the divine plans. 
Jerusalem must fall, and, with the religious develop- 
ment that had taken place under Isaiah and his suc- 
cessors, exile would mean the saving of what was best 
in the Hebrew nation, and not its complete destruction 
as would have been the case a century earlier. Jere- 
miah clings to this prediction and faith, in the face of 
charges of disloyalty and the bitterest abuse and perse- 
cution. Like Isaiah he stood almost alone. The pro- 
phetic statesmen read the movements of history as their 
contemporaries are absolutely unable to do. Their op- 
timism, as expressed in the ever-changing but never-- 
dying Messianic hope, is nothing short of sublime. 
Jesus, who considered himself as fulfilling the ideal of 
the Messiah, turned his back like Jeremiah on the nar- 

*Isa. 10, ii ; 36, 37. 

[389] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

row patriotism of his day. To him the destruction 
of Jerusalem and of the Jewish Temple seemed inev- 
itable, but the national history would find richer fruit- 
age in a religion of sacrificial service for humanity. 

Josephus gives the account of one Jesus the son of 
Ananus, four years before the outbreak of the Roman 
war which resulted in the destruction ' of Jerusalem. 
While peace and prosperity still prevailed in the city, 
this male Cassandra appeared, during the Feast of Tab- 
ernacles, and began to cry: "A voice from the east, 
a voice from the west, a voice from the four winds, a 
voice against Jerusalem and the holy house, a voice 
against the bridegrooms and the brides, and a voice 
against the whole people." Arrested and beaten, and 
then dismissed as a madman, he lived by himself, hold- 
ing no intercourse with other persons and answering 
every question with his "Woe, woe to Jerusalem."* 

History gives frequent instances of the same sort. 
Sometimes the prediction is an optimistic one, as when 
Queen Louise predicted in 1 808 that Prussia would not 
be destroyed but finally victorious. In 1703 Leibnitz 
predicted the approach of a great revolution. Scipio 
had a foreboding of the later fate of Rome.f Such 
rather general premonitions need not detain us; their 
origin is not hard to explain. It should be noted that 
the shores o'f both secular and religious history are 
strewn with the wrecks of unfulfilled prediction. 

There remain the cases of religious premonition 

* Jewish War, Bk. VI, 5 13. 

t J. H. Kaplan, in Am. J. of Psychol, and Rel. Ed., II, 179. 

[390] 



INSPIRATION 

which find fulfillment in the individual's life. But 
these are so bound up with similar cases from the an- 
nals of psychical research, as yet little understood, that 
we are at liberty to dismiss them. Even when fully 
authenticated, with the careful elimination of coinci- 
dence and of premonitions which bring their own ful- 
fillment, they teach us nothing new as to the way in 
which religious knowledge is gained. 

Summarizing the studies of this chapter, we may say 
that inspiration in religion must take its place beside 
the inspiration of art or music, literature or science. 
All depend largely on the emergence of subconscious 
impressions into consciousness. How far an external 
cosmic mind is involved is a philosophical question. All 
we can say here is that the subconscious is the vehicle 
through which divine inspiration must act, provided 
that a God, in something of the Christian sense, is pres- 
ent. Inspiration in itself cannot be taken as evidence 
of such a presence, since it is always possible that our 
third rule, excluding the suggestions of a mind to itself, 
should be applied. 



[391 ] 



CHAPTER XXII 

PHYSICAL EFFECTS 

^nr^HE power of curing disease has been claimed by 
-*- ' all religions, with the exception of Protestant 
Christianity during a part of the nineteenth century. 
From the multitude of well-authenticated cases, I cite a 
few which will illustrate various types. 

Here is a case of spontaneous self-cure, from the 
narrative of that heroic enthusiast, George Fox. Once, 
when struck down by a mob, "the power of the Lord 
sprang through me and the eternal refreshings re- 
freshed me, that I stood up again in the eternal power 
of God and stretched out my arms amongst them all 
and said again, with a loud voice, Strike again, here is 
my arms, my head and my cheeks." At that a mason 
struck the top of his hand with his walking staff. The 
hand was so bruised that he could not draw it up, and 
the people cried that it had been spoiled for any 
further use. "And after a while the Lord's power 
sprang through me again and through my hand and 
arm, that in a minute I recovered my hand and 
arm and strength, in the face and sight of them 
all."* 

Here is the case of self-cure in answer to prayer. 
It is related by Dr. Torrey, the evangelist. "A fit of 

* Journal, Cambridge 1911, vol. II, 58. 

[392] 



PHYSICAL EFFECTS 

illness came upon him when alone in his study. He 
was in such pain that he was unable to arise and seek 
help. Fearing lest he should be left alone and unaided 
for an entire night unless he secured the strength to 
care for himself, he prayed, and in a few moments 
•was greatly relieved."* 

We turn next to the miracle-working shrine. The 
following are among the cures which are known to 
have taken place at Lourdes. "Catherine Latapie- 
Chouat fell from an oak tree in October, 1856. Her 
arm and hand were badly dislocated. The reduction 
of the dislocation was performed successfully; but, in 
spite of the most intelligent care, the thumb, index, and 
middle fingers remained fixedly bent, and it was neither 
possible to straighten them nor to make them move in 
any way. The idea of going to the Massabielle grotto, 
six or seven kilometres away from her home, came into 
her mind. She got up at daybreak, and after praying, 
went to bathe her hand in the marvellous water. Her 
hand immediately straightened out; she could open and 
shut her fingers, which had become as flexible as they 
were before the accident." 

"Marie Lanou-Domeuge, twenty-four years old, had 
been troubled with incomplete paralysis of the whole 
left side for three years. She could not take a step 
without help. Hearing the Massabielle spring spoken 
of, the peasant sent some one to Lourdes one day to 
bring a little of this healing water from the source it- 
self. She was helped to get up and dress; two people 
* llmv to Pray, quoted by Strong, op. c\t., 55. 

[ 393 1 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

lifted her and she stood, both of them supporting her 
by the shoulders. Then she stretched out her trembling 
hand and plunged her ringers into the glass of healing 
water, made a large sign of the cross, put the glass 
to her lips and drank the contents slowly. Then she 
straightened herself up, shook herself, and cried out in 
triumphant joy: 'Let me go! Let me go quickly! I 
am cured.' And she began to walk as if she had never 
been paralyzed." 

"Mile, de Fontenay, twenty-three years old, had a 
paralysis of her lower limbs for nearly, seven years. It 
developed after two falls, one from a carriage and one 
from a horse, which had given her a great shock, and 
had provoked uterine disease. Two seasons at Aix, 
homeopathy, hydro-therapeutics, the actual cautery, all 
these different forms of treatment had failed. From 
the end of January, 1873, she could no longer stand on 
her feet. She had, moreover, sharp internal pains, and 
attacks of nervous irritation. On the 21st of May, 
1873, she went to Lourdes. During the course of a 
nine days' devotion, her strength gradually came back; 
after the devotional season was over,- July 3, she could 
follow the procession on foot. But the day after 
Pentecost, the paralysis reappeared. She tried a season 
at Aix again in vain, at Brides, at Bourboule, and came 
back to Autun feeble, paralyzed and demoralized. Un- 
der the influence of religious suggestions, her imagina- 
tion was gradually exalted again. On May 4, 1874, 
Bernadotte appeared to her in a dream, and promised 
her that she should be cured. In August, she accompa- 

[394] 



PHYSICAL EFFECTS 

nied the Abbot of Musy to Lourdes, who was himself 
miraculously cured of a paraplegia. She was plunged 
into the pond several times, and then taken to the cave 
in a carriage. This was on August 15, the anniversary 
of the Abbot Musy's cure, and at the same place where 
he was cured. During mass read by the abbot, she felt 
a slight pricking in her limbs; after the mass was over 
she rose; she was cured."* 

Here is a case from Christian Science. "The patient 
suffered for twenty years from a form of paralysis and 
most of the time losing more and more control over her 
limbs, the latter eight years being completely paralyzed 
in her lower limbs, and partially in the arms, and she 
was so helpless that others had to carry her downstairs 
to her couch or bathchair in the morning, and upstairs 
to bed at night, when she was well enough to leave her 
bed at all. The attending medical man at this period, 
when asked his opinion of the future progress of the 
disease, replied plainly in effect, that there was no 
hope of any cure, but a very grave fear that she would 
steadily grow worse and that a fatal termination in 
the near future was not at all improbable — and then 
he followed this up with a strong recommendation to 
her to try Christian Science, because he had known of a 
case in his own practice of partial spinal paralysis being 
healed by this treatment. The patient, after consult- 
ing with her relatives and also with the one healed by 
Christian Science, to whom her doctor had referred, ap- 

* Lasserre, summarized by Bernheim, Suggestive Thera- 
peutics, Eng. trans., 200 ff. 

[ 395 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

plied for Christian Science treatment. During the first 
treatment given, the Christian Scientist had the joy of 
witnessing the active return of movement in the par- 
alyzed limbs, at first in an involuntary and uncontrol- 
lable swinging of the legs under the bedclothes. There 
had been no movement of these limbs for nearly eight 
years. In the early morning after the Scientist's visit, 
which had been paid in the evening, the patient made 
her sister get up, light the gas and help her out of 
bed, saying she 'felt sure she could walk.' She arose 
and walked around her bed. Their great joy may be 
imagined. The healing was so rapid that in two or 
three days she was able to go out, walking about the 
town."* 

I now cite, for comparison, some cases with which 
religion had nothing to do. Voisin relates the casual 
treatment, in the square of a French city, of a peasant 
woman, forty years of age, who for two years had 
"suffered from various nervous ailments, indicating 
hysteria. After an attack six months before she became 
paralyzed in her right arm, and after a second attack 
she had a contracture in it. The arm was now hang- 
ing lax and it could not perform the slightest motion ; 
her wrist and fingers were so much bent inward that 
the long nails had caused wounds in the hand ; the artic- 
ulations of her fingers were swollen and tender. All 
attempts to straighten the fingers only produced severe 
pain and increased contracture, Feeling remained in 
the arm and the muscles were not atrophied. I hypno- 

* W. F. W. Wilding, M.D., quoted by Flower, Christian 
Science, 77. 

[396] 



PHYSICAL EFFECTS 

tized her within a quarter of an hour. She fell into a 
deep sleep and was insensible, and her limbs were com- 
pletely relaxed. With loud voice I now ordered her to 
straighten the little finger of her right hand. She com- 
plied, but with great difficulty and with signs of pain. 
Encouraged by this success, I asked her to straighten 
the ring-finger; she did that also; then the middle 
ringer; this seemed to be more difficult, but she suc- 
ceeded at last, after which the remaining finger and 
thumb were easily straightened. Her hand was fully 
stretched, although it evidently hurt the swollen joints; 
but she moved her fingers with increasing facility, and 
the contracture had entirely disappeared. Her arm 
was still immovable. I then ordered the invalid to 
move her arm and assured her that she could do it; she 
succeeded, at first with difficulty, but finally so that she 
moved it as easily as the left one. The bystanders re- 
garded the cure as a miracle. Four months later, I 
received the information that the woman was well and 
could use her arm for every purpose."* 

"A woman was brought on a couch into a London 
hospital by two ladies, who said she had been suffering 
from incurable paralysis of the spine for two years, 
and having exhausted all their means in nursing her, 
they now sought to get her admitted, pending her re- 
moval to a home for incurables. In two hours I had 
cured her by agencies which owed all their virtue to 
their influence on her mind, and I walked with the 
woman half a mile up and down the waiting-room, and 

* Quoted by F. Bjornstrom, Hypnotism, p. 93. 

[397] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

she then returned home in an omnibus, being com- 
pletely cured."* 

"M. L., a little girl of six, was sent to me from the 
West, in November, 1901, under a death sentence 
from a number of specialists. Her urine contained 
six and one-quarter per cent of sugar ; the daily quan- 
tity voided was sixty-five ounces ; and the specific grav- 
ity, 1038. Three treatments by suggestion were given 
after the child was asleep in bed at night, with the 
result of entirely eliminating the sugar, of reducing the 
specific gravity to 1017, and the daily amount of urine 
to twenty-four ounces — all in the space of ten days."t 

General Grant tells us that on the night before Lee's 
surrender he was suffering very severely from a sick 
headache. He stopped at a farmhouse and spent the 
night bathing his feet in hot water and putting mustard 
plasters on his wrists and neck. Next morning, riding 
to take his place at the head of the column, he received 
an answer from General Lee, consenting to negotia- 
tions for surrender. "When the officer reached me," 
he says, "I was still suffering with the sick headache ; 
but the instant I saw the contents of the note I was 
cured.":): 

The problem of prayer for the sick has shifted com- 
pletely since Professor Tyndall and his friends threw 
down their "prayer-gauge" in 1872. Then the ques- 
tion was a purely physical one: can we obtain any evi- 
dence that physical causes are affected by the requests 

* A. T. Schofield, M.D., The Unconscious Mind, 393. 
t J. D. Quackenbos, Hypnotic Therapeutics, 1907, p. 116. 
% Personal Memoirs, 1885, pp. 483 ff. 

[ 398 ] 



PHYSICAL EFFECTS 

of devout persons? As the Christian public declined 
the challenge, the field was rather left to Mr. Galton, 
the only party who had any real evidence to offer: 
statistics showing practically equivalent death-rates 
among the more and the less devout classes. 

Today the question is a psychological one. The fact 
that mind influences the bodily condition is generally 
accepted. The working of suggestion has been illus- 
trated repeatedly in our chapter on The Subconscious. 
The effect may be direct, or it may be indirect through 
the action of telepathy. When Hudson, for instance, 
cured over a hundred cases by telepathy* (a claim for 
absent treatment which I hope may be checked by fur- 
ther experiments), he was practically taking up Tyn- 
dall's challenge. He was indicating how easily physi- 
cal causes may be affected by a strong will acting at a 
distance. But suppose Hudson's suggestions had taken 
the form of prayer. There is no way of telling whether 
the divine mind had anything to do with the effect 
on the minds and so on the bodies of the patients. It 
is evident that all cures performed in answer to prayer, 
or by other religious means, are excluded as direct evi- 
dence, by the application of Rule 2. The same is true 
of somatization and other bodily effects. 

As far as the individual is concerned, prayer is un- 
doubtedly a therapeutic agent of the greatest value. 
The Emmanuel Movement, operating on strictly scien- 
tific lines, makes repeated use of it. Religion tends 
to promote an attitude of mind — an absence of worry, 

* Law of Psychic Phenomena, 191 ff. 

[ 399 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

of fear, a confidence, an optimism — which is an impor- 
tant element in the proper functioning of the organism. 
Wounds and fractures heal more quickly; there is less 
likelihood of contracting contagious diseases. The ef- 
fect of prayer on the nervous system was noted in the 
last chapter. In extreme cases, as the history of mar- 
tyrdom shows, religious faith is able to deaden com- 
pletely the sense of pain. Prayer brings strength for 
battle or for any physical effort. But the suggestions 
of a mind to itself must be excluded by Rule 3. 

One of the most remarkable cases in the annals of 
prayer is that of George Muller, the devoted German- 
English philanthropist, who came to depend entirely 
on this source for his own maintenance and that of his 
various enterprises. In establishing the orphans' home 
in Bristol, he began with prayer for suitable premises, 
for one thousand pounds in money, and for helpers to 
take charge of the children. Two days later he re- 
ceived his first gifts : a shilling and a piece of furniture. 
A public meeting followed, on December 9, 1835, ana1 
then two published letters, stating calmly the nature 
of the enterprise, the plan which was to be followed 
in carrying it out, the immediate needs and the fact 
that he confidently expected them to be met in answer 
to his prayer. The work was begun on a small scale 
the following spring. The financial stringency was 
often great, but equally great was the faith of Muller 
and his fellow workers. In one case the annual report 
was held for five months, in order that no public appeal 
might interfere with the operation of prayer alone. 

[400] 



PHYSICAL EFFECTS 

Sometimes after breakfast there was no means in sight 
for dinner for a hundred persons. Occasionally a meal 
was delayed because the necessary food was late in ap- 
pearing. Everything was paid in cash; no debts were 
incurred. By 1856 two hundred and ninety-seven chil- 
dren were being cared for, and a total of £84,441 had 
been received. In all, five large orphanages were built 
and maintained. Over 121,000 persons were educated 
in his day-schools. Over two million copies of the 
Scriptures, in various languages, were distributed, be- 
sides many million books and tracts, and several hun- 
dred missionaries were sent to the foreign field. A 
total of nearly a million and a half pounds was ac- 
counted for. Besides what was received directly for 
the work, Miiller himself, a poor man, who had liter- 
ally followed the injunction to sell all that he had 
and give to the poor, donated during his lifetime £81,- 
490, out of money given him for his own use in cash or 
legacies. 

What can we say of a record like this? Whether 
God had anything to do with it, or not, it is evident 
that Miiller was constantly suggesting to the Christian 
public the nature of the work and its needs. His im- 
plicit faith made a powerful appeal. Psychologically 
the suggestion was all the stronger because it was indi- 
rect, rather than through direct solicitation. I have 
heard the late President Strong of Carleton College 
state that in his money-raising, in which he was very 
successful, he never made a direct request for money, 
but simply prayed over the matter and then described 

[ 401 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

the work to the persons whom he was led to visit. Our 
second rule must again be applied. I am not desirous 
of disproving the answer to prayer in such cases, even 
if it were possible to do so ; I have myself had experi- 
ences of the same sort. It is simply that where an al- 
ternative explanation may be given, the evidence as 
evidence must be ruled out of court. 

Religious experiences involving what is known as 
1 'providence" are less easy to deal with, partly because 
the evidence, although voluminous, is almost entirely 
anecdotal. To attempt to sift the cases would hardly 
be worth the labor. Some of them would prove to be 
exaggerations, others mere coincidences. Telepathic 
warnings undoubtedly have large place, but about these 
there is nothing distinctively religious; in fact most 
of the cases studied by The Society for Psychical Re- 
search have no connection with religion. 

The prayer of the religious man for protection for 
himself and others certainly has this value: it is an 
adjustment to the universe and its forces. It cultivates 
both a sense of dependence, and a faith in an over- 
ruling order, in a standard of value higher than that 
of merely physical weal or woe. It helps the worship- 
per to become reconciled to whatever happens — even to 
rejoice in it. This note is very prominent in religious 
literature; for example, in the Book of Psalms. 



[402] 



CHAPTER XXIII 

CONVERSION 

/^\N no side of religious experience has modern psy- 
^-^ chology been more fruitful than in the study 
of the change known as conversion. The pioneer in 
this field was President G. Stanley Hall of Clark 
University, and the investigation has been carried fur- 
ther by his pupils and by many others. The most 
thorough work is that of Professor Edwin D. Star- 
buck, now of Leland Stanford University. 

Let us look first at the mental revolution which takes 
place during adolescence. "Conversion," says Starbuck, 
"does not occur with the same frequency at all periods 
in life. It belongs almost exclusively to the years be- 
tween 10 and 25. The number of instances outside 
that range appear few and scattered. That is, conver- 
sion is a distinctively adolescent phenomenon."* This 
is shown by the chart which he gives, plotted from the 
cases of two hundred and fifty-four females and two 
hundred and thirty-five males. Similar results have 
been obtained by other observers. "We may safely lay 
it down as a law, that among the females there are two 
tidal waves of religious awakening at about 13 and 16, 
followed by a less significant period at 18 ; while among 
the males the great wave is at about 16, preceded by a 

* Psychology of Religion, 28. 

[403] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

wavelet at 12, and followed by a surging up at 18 or 
19."* 

Although the cases tabulated are confined to persons 
who had experienced a definite conversion, and make 
no allowance for those who had not, substantially the 
same crisis is known to occur in all normal young peo- 
ple. This has been recognized, not only in the revival 
meeting, and in the confirmation and first communion 
of ritual churches, but, at least as regards males, in the 
ceremonies attending the change from youth to man- 
hood among almost all early religions, from the Chu- 
ringa mysteries of the Central Australian or the 
solitary vigil of the American Indian to the solemn in- 
duction into citizenship in ancient Greece. 

What is adolescence? Physiologically, it marks the 
functioning of the reproductive organs, which is com- 
pleted in the female most frequently at the ages of 
thirteen or fourteen, and in the male about two years 
later. Other physiological changes occur, such as 
heightened blood-pressure, and greater exhalation of 
carbonic acid, indicating more active metabolism. 
Girls increase rapidly in weight from ten or eleven 
up to thirteen and less rapidly after that age. In bo5^s 
there is usually a sudden acceleration in both height 
and weight at the age of ten, and a rapid increase in 
weight from thirteen to sixteen. From these figures 
and from a study of individual cases Starbuck has de- 
duced the laws that the period of most rapid bodily 
growth is the time when conversion is most likely to 

*Id. f 34. 

[ 404 ] 



CONVERSION 

occur, and that conversion and puberty tend to supple- 
ment each other in time, rather than to coincide.* 

The mental changes involved in adolescence are even 
more important. The best description which I have 
seen is that drawn by Professor Coe, from the stand- 
point of the American Christian community, the only 
community adequately studied. The reader may verify 
it by the memory of his own experience. Though 
applying particularly to boys, the same things may be 
said of girls, with some modifications. 

"The term adolescence, as now commonly used by 
psychologists, designates the whole period of approxi- 
mately a dozen years from the first premonitions of 
puberty to the completion of the change to adult life. 
The mental development during this period is directly 
correlated with the physical. As the child now comes 
into possession of all the powers that belong to the 
species, and thus becomes a determining factor in it, so 
his feelings and his intellectual horizon rapidly widen 
out. There is greater independence, and yet greater 
consciousness of social dependence. The social instinct, 
in fact, now for the first time comes to blossom. There 
enters into the life a new sense of how others think and 
feel, and a self-conscious effort after social life and 
social adjustment. Life means more. Naively indi- 
vidualistic the youth cannot be; if he is selfish, it is 
only by a more or less conscious wrenching of himself 
out of his normal adjustment. 

"We found the child mind occupied with impres- 

*Id., 38, 41. 

[405] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

sions and caring little for the universal. It is just the 
other way with the mind of the youth. The universal 
infatuates him, while the particular is likely to appear 
as a delay and a hindrance. He becomes a dreamer 
enamored of ideals and ravished with ambitions. Noth- 
ing but the greatest is great enough for him; nothing 
but the perfect has any worth or beauty. When he was 
a child his attention was absorbed by the things about 
him; but now the new feelings and powers blossoming 
within him direct his mind inward, and he becomes 
self-conscious, bashful, introspective, critical. The 
most prominent thing about him is sensibility, and this 
may become so acute that he shrinks from life, conceals 
himself, and eats his own heart in solitude. He may 
become incommunicative, secretive, lonely, or he may 
seek support in the friendship of a clique of youths 
who, being of his own age, can appreciate him. 

"Just as the youth's own life grows inward, the 
things about him get an inner side also. It is now that 
beauty in nature assumes its mystical, fascinating qual- 
ity. He thinks of things as having mysterious ultimate 
principles which he would fain penetrate. He has con- 
fidence in his ability to understand all mysteries if only 
he could get the right clew. He no longer takes things 
merely as they appear, nor is he willing to take any- 
thing for granted. Nothing short of absolute, indu- 
bitable truth, the true inwardness, the complete 
subjectivizing of everything, can satisfy him. Nothing 
short of absolutely right conduct can be right at all. 
He hates all imperfections, all compromises. What 

[ 4 o6] 



CONVERSION 

other persons call prudence seems to him to be disloy- 
alty to principle. He will penetrate to the heart of 
moral law. Heretofore morality has imposed itself 
from outside, and right conduct has consisted in obe- 
dience to formal rules; but now he begins to inspect 
the rules themselves, and, though he may question 
them, he finds within his own breast a law-giver more 
exacting and terrible than any external rules. Though 
he passes out from under the tutelage of social law, he 
approaches in his own consciousness only so much 
nearer the awful seat of right. 

"It is now that he becomes a conscious logician. A 
passion for argumentation takes possession of him. He 
will settle everything by rigorous logic. It was at this 
period of life that Descartes entered upon the course 
of thought that produced his principle of doubting 
everything that can be doubted. The adolescent is a 
remorseless critic. There is no limit to his captiousness 
and censoriousness. The least slip in pronunciation, 
the least infelicity of rhetoric, the least fault in dress, 
in manners, or in conduct, is seized upon wherever 
found, and playmates, teachers, pastor, and parents 
pass under the rod of his scorn. Then appear pride, 
conceit, self-will, and rebellion against authority. 

"But all this time the youngster has been applying 
this whole merciless process to himself. He debates 
with himself more than with any one else. He criti- 
cizes himself; he agonizes for his faults. Most of all, 
perhaps, he will wring the secret of existence from him- 
self. The childish 'why', which used to be asked out 

[407] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

of playful curiosity, has now given place to a serious 
questioning upon which the issues of life and death 
appear to hang. And because the 'why' of life does not 
respond to his insistent pleadings he becomes puzzled 
and perplexed, possibly impatient with life itself. 
'Why was I born? What am I good for?' he asks in 
torturing uncertainty. He may find relief in religion, 
or he may merely brood and worry, or he may take the 
easy road of doubt and scepticism. Because his power 
to ask questions exceeds the wisdom of the wisest to 
answer, the absolute mystery of being presses down 
upon his spirit as if to crush it. 

"But this creature of intense emotion, and of intense, 
though narrow, intellectuality, has not corresponding 
power of action. He can conceive great . things, he 
fancies himself doing great things, but here he stands 
only less helpless than a child. This is partly because 
his whole being tends to turn in upon itself and thereby 
loses the relief that comes from free self-expression. 
Here, then, are conditions altogether extraordinary. 
The adolescent can neither continue the free, individ- 
ualistic, objective life of childhood, nor does he yet per- 
ceive how to adjust himself to the larger life. He is 
likely to become awkward in both body and mind, and 
the consciousness of this awkwardness may constitute 
for him a tragedy." 

"The broader, deeper questioning as to the meaning 
of life, together with the blossoming of the social 
instinct, brings the need of a new and more deeply per- 
sonal realization of the content of religion. The quick- 

[408] 



CONVERSION 

ened conscience, with its thirst for absolute righteous- 
ness ; the quickened intellect, with its thirst for absolute 
truth; the quickened aesthetic sense, with its intuitions 
of a beauty that eye hath not seen and ear hath not 
heard ; the quickened social sense, with its longing for 
perfect and eternal companionship — in short, the new 
meaningfulness and mystery of life — all this tends to 
bring in a new and distinct epoch in religious experi- 
ence. If one has not been religious in childhood, now 
is the supremely favorable time for conversion; and 
if one has been religious, there is still need, in most 
cases, for a personal decision and personal accept- 
ance that shall supersede the more external habits of 
childhood."* 

Starbuck has worked out the following table, show- 
ing the relative frequency of certain motives and forces 
which lead to conversion. t 



MOTIVES AND FORCES PRESENT 
AT CONVERSION . 

i. Fear of Death or Hell 

2. Other Self-Regarding Motives 

3. Altruistic Motives 

4. Following out a Moral Ideal . 

5. Remorse, Conviction for Sin, etc 

6. Response to Teaching 

7. Example, Imitation, etc. . 

8. Social Pressure, Urging, etc. . 
Sum of 1 and 2 — Self-Regarding Motives 
Sum of 3 and 4 — Other-Regarding 

Ideal Motives .... 
Sum of 1 to 5 — Subjective Forces 
Sum of 6 to 8 — Objective Forces 

* The Spiritual Life, 35 #. 
f Op. cit., 52. 

[409] 







Both 


Females Males Sexes 


% 


% 


% 


. 14 


14 


14 


• 5 


7 


6 


. 6 


4 


5 


. 15 


20 


17 


. 15 


18 


16 


. 11 


8 


10 


. 14 


12 


13 


. 20 


17 


19 


ives . 19 


21 


20 


and 






. 21 


24 


22 


• 55 


63 


58 


• 45 


37 


43 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

Other important conclusions are drawn by the 
writer in this connection. The effect of the revival, 
he finds, is not so much to awaken highly emotional 
states, as to "appeal to those instincts already at work 
in consciousness, and which would probably show 
themselves spontaneously a year or two later." About 
one-fifth of the entire number of Starbuck's conver- 
sions (more frequently those of the males) took place 
independently of any immediate external influence. 
Among females, at least, the self-regarding motives 
(fears, etc.) predominate in the earlier years, but grad- 
ually decrease. Altruistic and moral-ideal motives tend 
to take their place, predominating after fifteen. The 
sense of sin increases up to the early years of adoles- 
cence, then gradually decreases, being connected per- 
haps with the rapid nervous changes. "Feeling plays 
a larger part in the religious life of females, while 
males are controlled more by intellection and volition." 
A close connection is shown between temperament and 
the character of the religious experience. 

Coe's studies are of interest in this connection. He 
finds that three sets of factors favor the attainment of 
a striking religious transformation: first, a sanguine 
or melancholic temperament, in which sensibility is es- 
pecially prominent, rather than intellect or will ; sec- 
ond, the strong expectation of a change; third, passive 
suggestibility, such as is found in good hypnotic sub- 
jects, and a tendency to automatisms, either motor — for 
example, uncontrollable laughter — or sensory, as in 
dreams and hallucinations. Just as in hypnotism, the 

[410] 



CONVERSION 

tendency to auto-suggestion while under the operator's 
influence is likely to cause the subject to resist. Sev- 
enty-seven cases (fifty-two males and twenty-five fe- 
males, mostly college students) were carefully studied 
and sifted. "Of ten cases in which there is expectation 
of a marked transformation, together with the pre- 
dominance of sensibility and passive suggestibility, the 
number whose expectation was satisfied was nine. But 
of eleven cases of such expectation, together with the 
predominance of intellect or of will, and with sponta- 
neous auto-suggestion, not one was satisfied." Such a 
study has an important bearing on the motor and visual 
automatisms which have appeared in religious commu- 
nities in all ages. And to the first group of his cases, 
as Coe discovers, "belong nearly, if not quite, all the 
persons who have experienced the healing of disease by 
faith, those who have received remarkable assurance 
of answered prayer in advance of the event, and those 
who reported other veridical premonitions."* 

The will is an important factor in determining the 
direction which the change will take, if it comes. 
"There are two essential aspects of conversion, that in 
which there is self-surrender and forgiveness, accom- 
panied by a sense of harmony with God; and that 
in which the new life bursts forth spontaneously as 
the natural recoil from the sense of sin, or as the 
result of a previous act of the will in striving toward 
righteousness."! 



* Op. cit., Chap. III. 
f Starbuck, ioo. 



[411] 



Male 

% 
of whole Av. 
Number Age 

2 II 


Female 

% 
of whole Av. 
Number ' Age 

19 11. 8 


• 34 13-6 
. 36 16.2 
. 26 17.4 
1 2 18 


42 13.2 
19 14.6 

17 15.4 
3 17 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

Another of Starbuck's tables shows the relation 
between the conscious and subconscious elements in 
conversion, the latter decreasing gradually with age:* 



CONSCIOUS ELEMENT 

Conscious Element Absent . 
Less than unconscious . 
Equal to unconscious 
Greater than unconscious 
Entirely dominant (or nearly so) 

Our writer finds that, in the experiences preceding 
conversion, the consciousness of sin is much more dom- 
inant than that of the life toward which one is tending. 
The transformation is largely worked out "in the 
sphere of undefined feeling, and a relatively small part 
comes as mentally illuminated aspiration. ... It 
seems to be a step in growth which calls into activity 
the deeper instincts. . . . The feelings, which are the 
primal elements in consciousness, function strongly. In 
the tendency to resist conviction we see, also, an indi- 
cation that the new life is forcing its way even against 
the person's will. If we turn to the bodily affections, 
our evidence grows yet stronger. Conversion is a proc- 
ess which exercises the whole nature, and frequently 
disturbs the equilibrium of the physical organism. First 
and most often to be disturbed are sleep and appetite, 
the most primal organic functions. In the affections of 
sense, likewise, it is significant that touch, the mother- 
sense, is most affected. Accordingly, we may conclude 

* Id., 104. 

[412] 



CONVERSION 

that conversion is a process in which the deeper instinc- 
tive life most strongly functions."* 

"An immediate result of conversion is to call the 
person out from himself into active sympathy with the 
world outside." Definite returns along this line were 
tabulated in percentages:! 



RESULT OF CONVERSION 


Females 


Males 


Desire to Help Others . 


28 


28 


Love for Others .... 


42 


42 


Closer Relation to Nature 


3i 


34 


Closer Relation to God 


43 


43 


Closer Relation to Christ 


6 


4 



At the same time there is a new self-consciousness, a 
heightened sense of the value of the self. Latent men- 
tal powers are developed. The bodily health, which is 
likely to suffer during the experiences leading up to 
conversion, is generally improved when the crisis is 
passed. There is increased happiness and peace. 
Moral changes are even more striking: bad habits are 
given up, temper and other instincts are under better 
control. 

A closer study of Starbuck's cases would exclude a 
large proportion of them, according to our rules of evi- 
dence. We should find them due directly to mob- 
suggestion, hypnosis, the strong urging of pastor or 
friends, the suggestions of a mind to itself. At the 
same time the somewhat general experience of conver- 
sion — its close connection with adolescence, its net 
result in the improvement of the individual, the estab- 

*Id., 64. 
fid., 128. 

[413] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

lishment of a larger self, a self in more complete and 
normal relation with its environment — is a fact of the 
highest importance. 

Such changes are of immense value in the life of 
the community and of the race. Whatever methods 
are used to bring them about — whether the lonely vigil 
in the forest while circumcision is healing, or the revi- 
val service, or the quieter pressure of home and church 
training — religion in some form is the determining 
factor. Without religion, the adjustment, as far as the 
matter has been studied, seems to be either lacking en- 
tirely or more one-sided. Starbuck has shown in one 
of his chapters* that while an ethical interest may be 
continued or even heightened during the storm and 
stress of adolescence, in the absence of a definite reli- 
gious experience an intellectual or aesthetic interest be- 
comes prominent in a large number of cases. To this is 
due,' probably, the intensity and the narrowness of 
many scholars and artists in later life. The adolescent 
is father of the man. More frequently, in the absence 
of a higher appeal, the new self becomes absorbed in 
interests that are merely utilitarian, or in the gratifica- 
tion of animal instincts and cravings. 

Starbuck, in a further analysis of his cases, is led to 
distinguish two types of conversion, which he character- 
izes as escape from sin and spiritual illumination. "The 
first type, escape from sin, is more nearly akin to break- 
ing a habit. It is characteristic of all the older persons 
studied, and of all, regardless of age, who had led way- 

*Id., XXI. 

[414] 



CONVERSION 

ward lives. It is connected with the feeling of sinful- 
ness proper, in which the mental state is negative, and 
attended by dejection and self-abnegation. The second 
type, which we have inadequately termed spiritual illu- 
mination, seems to be the normal — at any rate, the 
most frequent — adolescent experience. It involves a 
struggle after larger life, and is largely positive, al- 
though often accompanied by uncertainty and distress. 
After praying, and struggling and striving, the light 
dawns, new insight is attained, and there is joy and 
a sense of freedom in the new possession. This latter 
type is attended, to be sure, with much the same feel- 
ings just before the crisis as is the escape from sin, but 
in this case they are mere incidents to the central fact 
that the new insight is difficult to attain. There is the 
same juxtaposition in both instances of two inharmo- 
nious lives, the old and the new. In the escape from 
sin the conflict is between a life that has been lived — 
a sinful, habitual life — and the life of righteousness; 
while in the other type the conflict is between a life that 
is not — an incomplete, imperfect, aspiring self — and 
the life which is to blossom out and be realized." The 
two types are often blended. "Of those cases which 
belong rather distinctly to one or the other type, there 
seem to be about six times as many which follow the 
sense of incompleteness as the escape from sin. There 
are more of this type in both sexes, and in both revival 
and non-revival groups. It is the rule for the non- 
revival females to belong to it."* 

•Id., 85 #. 

[415] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

These two types are found also in the many experi- 
ences of conversion in adult life, from the time of St. 
Paul onward. Reversing the order, I give two exam- 
ples of "spiritual illumination" to which James has 
called attention. The first is the well-known case of 
David Brainerd. In his twenty-second year, after long 
agonizing of spirit, he reached the point where he real- 
ized his own unworthiness and inability. "When I 
saw evidently that I had regard to nothing but self-in- 
terest, then my duties appeared vile mockery of God, 
self-worship, and a continual course of lies. ... I 
continued, as I remember, in this state of mind, from 
Friday morning till the Sabbath evening following, 
July 12, 1739, when I was walking again in the same 
solitary place. Here, in a mournful melancholy state, 
I was attempting to pray ; but found no heart to engage 
in that, or any other duty; my former concern, and 
exercise, and religious affections were now gone. I 
thought the Spirit of God had quite left me; but still 
was not distressed; yet disconsolate, as if there was 
nothing in heaven or earth could make me happy. And 
having been thus endeavoring to pray (though being, 
as I thought, very stupid and senseless) for near half 
an hour, then, as I was walking in a dark, thick grove, 
unspeakable glory seemed to open to the apprehension 
of my soul. I do not mean any external brightness, 
for I saw no such thing ; nor do I intend any imagina- 
tion of a body of light somewhere away in the third 
heavens, or anything of that nature; but it was a new 
inward apprehension or view that I had of God, such 

[416] 



CONVERSION 

as I never had before, nor anything which had the least 
resemblance of it. . . . My soul was so captivated and 
delighted with the excellency, loveliness, greatness, and 
other perfections of God, that I was even swallowed 
up in him; at least to that degree, that I had no 
thought at first about my own salvation, and scarce 
reflected that there was such a creature as myself. . . . 
I continued in this state of inward joy, peace, yet as- 
tonishment, till near dark, without any sensible abate- 
ment; and then began to think and examine what I 
had seen; and felt sweetly composed in my mind all 
the evening following. I felt myself in a new world, 
and everything about me appeared with a different as- 
pect from what it was wont to do. At this time, the 
way of salvation opened to me with such infinite wis- 
dom, suitableness, and excellency, that I wondered I 
should ever think of any other way of salvation; was 
amazed that I had not dropped my own contrivances, 
and complied with this lovely, blessed, and excellent 
way before."* James calls attention to the simulta- 
neous ripening of the one affection and the exhaustion 
of the other, in the subconscious. 

By way of comparison I take an example with which 
formal religion had nothing to do, the conversion of 
Horace Fletcher from worry to peace. 

'You must first get rid of anger and worry,' said 
a friend, speaking of the self-control attained by some 
Japanese through their practice of the Buddhist 
discipline. 

* Edward's Life of Brainerd, Worcester 1793, p. 24. 

[417] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

" 'But,' said I, 'is that possible?' 

" 'Yes,' replied he, 'it is possible to the Japanese, and 
ought to be possible to us.' 

"On my way back to the Parker House, I could not 
think of anything else but the words, 'get rid,' 'get rid' ; 
and the idea must have continued to possess me during 
my sleeping hours, for the first consciousness in the 
morning brought back the same thought, with the reve- 
lation of a discovery, which framed itself into the rea- 
soning, 'If it is possible to get rid of anger and worry, 
why is it necessary to have them at all?' I felt the 
strength of the argument, and at once accepted the rea- 
soning. The baby had discovered that it could walk. 
It would scorn to creep any longer. From the instant 
I realized that these cancer spots of worry and anger 
were removable, they left me. With the discovery of 
their weakness they were exorcised. From that time 
life has had an entirely changed aspect. Although 
from that moment the possibility and desirability of 
freedom from the depressing passions has been a reality 
to me, it took me some months to feel absolute security 
in my new position ; but, as the usual occasions for 
worry and anger have presented themselves over and 
over again, and I have been unable to feel them in 
the slightest degree, I no longer dread or guard against 
them, and I am amazed at my increased energy and 
vigor of mind; — at my strength to meet situations of 
all kinds, and at my disposition to love and appreciate 
everything."* 

* Menti culture, 1897, p. 26. 

[418] 



CONVERSION 

Examples of illumination and adjustment, transi- 
tional between this case and the former, might be given 
from Buddhism and from eclectic Hindu sects, or from 
New Thought and Christian Science. "The spirit of 
infinite life and power that is back of all," says Trine, 
"is what I call God. I care not what term you may 
use, be it Kindly Light, Providence, the Over-Soul,' 
Omnipotence, or whatever term may be most conven- 
ient, so long as we are agreed in regard to the great 
central fact itself. God then fills the universe alone, 
so that all is from Him and in Him, and there is noth- 
ing that is outside. He is the life of our life, our very 
life itself. . . . The great central fact in human life 
is the coming into a conscious vital realization of our 
oneness with this Infinite Life, and the opening of our- 
selves fully to this divine inflow."* 

For illustrations of sudden conversion from a life of 
sin, I turn to Harold Begbie's remarkable study of the 
work of the Salvation Army in West London.f It will 
be worth while to describe one of these at some length ; 
it is typical of them all. 

The case is that of a man who from boyhood had been 

possessed by the passion for crime. He apparently had 

no sensual appetites, and used public houses merely as 

convenient rendezvous. His parents were respectable 

Irish people, Roman Catholics, and the other children 

responded to home and church training. Danny was 

the black sheep of the family. "He was like a stone 

* Ralph Waldo Trine, In Tune with the Infinite, quoted by 
James, op. cit., ioo. 

f Twice-Born Men, A Clinic in Regeneration, 1909. 

[419] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

to his schoolmasters, imbibing nothing, and indifferent 
to chastisement. He played truant from church. He 
refused to say his prayers. He regarded the whole life 
of the home with contemptuous disfavour. Never 
once, he says, was he conscious of any desire to learn, 
to be good, to work and get on in the world. Always, 
from his earliest remembrance, he resented discipline 
and loathed effort." 

At fourteen Danny took to the streets and became 
the leader of a gang of youths who lived by crime. He 
and his pals took brutal delight in fighting weaker and 
less criminal bands of roughs, or assaulting and mal- 
treating solitary policemen. His frequent arrests and 
imprisonments only hardened him in crime. He rep- 
resents, as Begbie says, the lowest type of criminal ; 
there was no imaginable mean thing that he would 
not have done. 

"It came about that Danny was arrested and sen- 
tenced to a long term of imprisonment soon after the 
conversion of the Puncher. Of course, he had heard 
of that miraculous event, and, of course, he had 
laughed over it with some of the Puncher's old mates 
in the lodging-houses. But in prison, realizing the 
weary time of monotonous suffering ahead of him, the 
conversion of the Puncher stuck in his mind and 
haunted his thoughts. He knew that the Puncher was 
better off as a saved man than as a drunkard. He im- 
agined the Puncher's home, his fare, his good meals, 
nice clothes, his liberty unshadowed by fear of police. 
Then he considered within himself how bad and low 

[420] 



CONVERSION 

the Puncher had been, a 'hopeless' drunkard. It 
seemed to him a wonderful thing that a man so aban- 
doned to drink, and such a man, should all of a sudden 
give it up. He was quite dazed and staggered by the 
thought. What a drunkard, what a frightful drunk- 
ard, the Puncher had been; and now he was clean and 
respectable! For days the prisoner fed his mind upon 
this thought in the solitude of his cell. Alone in that 
little cramped space of stone, locked in, and without 
sight of tree, sky, or moving creature, the hardened 
criminal reflected upon the 'fair marvel' of Puncher's 
conversion. And one day revelation came to this base 
and savage mind. It came suddenly, without miracle, 
and it did not in the least stagger him. He started up 
with the thought in his mind, 'If God can save 
Puncher, He can save me.' " 

"To reach God, he understood, prayer was neces- 
sary. So he got upon his knees in the prison cell, and 
offered his first prayer. He was a young man, and 
twelve whole years out of his short life had been passed 
in gaols; he had never had an opportunity of under- 
standing religion; he had never given the idea of God 
a moment's thought. But he knew just enough of the 
matter to kneel. In w T hat spirit he knelt one cannot 
exactly say: the important thing is that this depraved 
brute did kneel, and did pray. He says that he 
prayed throughout his long sentence, and hoped that 
when he left prison fortune would smile upon him, that 
it would be 'all right.' " 

When he came out the Puncher met him, and 

[421 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

talked with him : about the rotten life he had been liv- 
ing, about the power of God to wipe away sins and 
give his soul a new birth. The criminal was impressed, 
but his thoughts were still on a material level. His 
chief problem was how to manage steady work. 

"Danny came to the Salvation Army meeting; he 
felt a light of illumination break through his soul at 
the adjutant's assurance of God's love' for the worst 
of men; he realized all of a sudden the need for love 
in his own barren heart, and in that spirit — the spirit 
of a broken and contrite heart — he knelt at the peni- 
tents' form, and for the first time really reached into 
the infinite. He prayed for mercy; he prayed for 
strength. 

"He rose from his knees a changed man. This 
change was absolute and entire. From being cruel, he 
became tender as a woman. From being a cunning 
thief, he became scrupulously honest. From being a 
loafer and unemployable, who had never done a single 
day's work in his civil life, he became an industrious 
workman. From being basely selfish, he became consid- 
erate for others, giving both himself and presently his 
money to the service of religion. 'The greatest change 
in Danny,' said a friend who knows him well, 'is his 
gentleness. He couldn't hurt a fly now, and any tale 
of cruelty or suffering, especially where children are 
concerned, fairly breaks him down.' " 

As a study in psychology such a case is of profound 
interest. We see the sudden appearance of a new per- 
sonality. Whence did it come? Unlike the known 

[422] 



CONVERSION 

cases of secondary personality, this new character re- 
members its previous "part." In some ways it is like 
Janet's Leonore, appearing, though never consciously, 
from the deeper levels of the subconscious ; or the last 
and completest Sally Beauchamp; or the improved 
Mary Reynolds. In the example before us, early 
training appears to have left no impressions on the sub- 
conscious mind. Some religious ideas however were 
undoubtedly gained from the surrounding community. 
The suggestion of a new character came from without : 
the story of the prizefighter's conversion suddenly tak- 
ing possession of the criminal's interest, maturing into 
the conviction that the new character was possible, that 
he might play it, further matured by the Puncher's per- 
sonal interview, budding in the Salvation Army hall at 
the adjutant's appeal, and finally blossoming as the 
man kneels at the penitents' bench. 

The nearest analogy is the moral improvement, 
equally striking though more gradual, wrought in some 
well-attested cases by hypnotic suggestion.* Similarly, 
hypnotism is frequently used to destroy the appetite for 
alcohol. As an agency in this direction religion may be 
far more powerful. Both point to depths of person- 
ality otherwise unsuspected. No matter how depraved 
the conscious personality has become, there would ap- 
pear to be in every man or woman a "mind" capable 
of being called out, in consciousness, into a new 
symmetry, utility and beauty. The religious experi- 
ence which is able to do this, which has done it in 



* See ante, p. 253. 



[423 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

many cases and perhaps may do it in all, if interested 
persons are present to suggest and the will of the sub- 
ject makes the necessary surrender, is a fact of the 
highest social value and significance. 

Apart from definite conversion, or in many cases sup- 
plementing it, we see a quieter reconstruction going on 
in the adult religious life. The process appears to be 
substantially the same: the formation of a larger self, 
more social, more self-controlled, better able to under- 
stand and adjust itself to its place in the world's life. 
Starbuck and others have studied this reconstruction 
in detail, but there is no occasion to dwell on it here. 
It may take the form of a new emotional experience, 
or "sanctification." It may be a deepening of faith, 
or a new understanding of duty, or a series of such illu- 
minations. Sometimes it is an intellectual adjustment. 
Again, the process may be completely reversed. The 
adjustment may fail at some one point, or at many 
points, and involve religion itself in its failure. 

Religious growth without definite transitions is 
shown by Edward Everett Hale in his answer to Star- 
buck's questions. The experience is probably common 
among those of a certain temperament who have been 
brought up under positive and wholesome religious in- 
fluences. "I observe, with profound regret," he says, 
"the religious struggles which come into many biogra- 
phies, as if almost essential to the formation of the hero. 
I ought to speak of these, to say that, any man has an 
advantage, not to be estimated, who is born, as I was, 
into a family where the religion is simple and ra- 

[424] 



CONVERSION 

tional; who is trained in the theory of such a religion, 
so that he never knows, for an hour, what these reli- 
gious or irreligious struggles are. I always knew God 
loved me, and I was always grateful to Him for the 
world He placed me in. I always liked to tell Him 
so, and was always glad to receive His suggestions to 
me. To grow up in this way saves boy or youth from 
those battles which men try to describe and cannot de- 
scribe, which seem to use up a great deal of young life. 
I can remember perfectly that, when I was coming to 
manhood, the half-philosophical novels of the time had 
a deal to say about the young men and maidens who 
were facing the 'problem of life.' I had no idea what- 
ever what the problem of life was. To live with all 
my might seemed to me easy ; to learn where there was 
so much to learn seemed pleasant and almost of course, 
to lend a hand, if one had a chance, natural; and if 
one did this, why, he enjoyed life because he could not 
help it, and without proving to himself that he ought 
to enjoy it. I suppose that a skilful professor of the 
business could have prodded up my conscience, which 
is, I think, as sensitive as another's. I suppose I could 
have been made very wretched, and that I could have 
made others very wretched. But I was in the hands 
of no such professor, and my relations with the God 
whose child I am were permitted to develop them- 
selves in the natural way."* 

Prayer, in the more developed religions, is largely 
concerned with the desire for forgiveness and for 

* Psychol, of Relig., 305. 

[ 425 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

moral improvement. This need finds expression in 
ritual: 

"O Varuna, loosen whatever sin we have com- 
mitted to bosom-friend, comrade, or brother; to our 
own house, or to the stranger; what (we) have sinned 
like gamblers at play, real (sin), or what we have not 
known. Make loose, as it were, all these things, O god 
Varuna, and may we be dear to thee hereafter."* 

"The sin I have committed change to mercy, 
The wrong I have done, may the wind carry off. 
Tear asunder my many transgressions as a garment. 
My god, my sins are seven times seven, forgive me my 

sins. 
My goddess, my sins are seven times seven, forgive me 

my sins. 
Known or unknown god, my sins are seven times seven, 

forgive me my sins. . . . " f 

"In the name of the merciful and compassionate 
God. Praise belongs to God, the Lord of the worlds, 
the merciful, the compassionate, the ruler of the day of 
judgment! Thee we serve and Thee we ask for aid. 
Guide us in the right path, the path of those Thou art 
gracious to ; not of those Thou art wroth with ; nor of 
those who err.":]: 

"Have mercy upon me, oh God, according to Thy 
loving kindness: according to the multitude of Thy 
tender mercies, blot out my transgressions. Wash me 

* Rig Veda, V. 85; Hopkins, Religion of India, 66. 
t Babylonian ritual tablet; Jastrow, Relig. of Bab. and 
Assyria, 321. 

X Koran, Sura I; Palmer's trans. 

[426] 



CONVERSION 

thoroughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from 
my sin. For I know my transgressions, and my sin is 
ever before me. . . . Hide Thy face from my sins, and 
blot out all mine iniquities. Create in me a clean 
heart, oh God, and renew a right spirit within me."* 

"Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy 
name. Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done, as in 
heaven so on earth. Give us this day our daily bread. 
And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven 
our debtors. And bring us not into temptation, but 
deliver us from evil."t 

As religion grows inward and personal, prayer in 
this field comes to be of the greatest practical 
value. It holds before the worshipper a high standard 
of thought and life. It begets increased confidence in 
one's own power to resist and to attain. And through 
the shifting of part of the moral burden on that higher 
Power, which is a reality for the religious experience 
whatever it may prove to be for philosophy, it induces 
the calm and confident attitude of mind which is the 
condition of subconscious influence. Moral improve- 
ment and habit are due far more to suggestions from 
below the threshold than they are to conscious striving. 
For this reason, religious faith is undoubtedly the most 
powerful moral instrument known to man. 

In Christianity, and to a very limited extent in 
other religions, of which it is the flower, the religious 
experience frequently takes the form of practical activ- 
ity Starbuck found some form of altruism to be the 

* Ps. 51 :i~3 ; 9-10. 
t Matt. 6:9-13. 

[427] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

governing ideal in fully one-half of the adults studied, 
as distinct from mere self-perfection.* Coe's investi- 
gations showed a somewhat similar division between 
feeling and activity. In the masculine religious experi- 
ence, an ethical and especially an other-regarding mo- 
tive is likely to be dominant, in later life.f 

Jesus, the religious genius of history par excellence, 
while feeling most deeply the sense of communion, put 
the emphasis on practical service. "Why call you me, 
Lord, Lord, and do not the things which I say? 
Every one who cometh unto me and heareth my words, 
and doeth them," is like a man who built his founda- 
tion on the solid rock4 His program was social: "to 
preach good tidings to the poor, to bind up the broken- 
hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the 
opening of the prison (or, of the eyes) to them that 
are bound, to proclaim the year of Jehovah's favor." § 
Divine Fatherhood meant human brotherhood. Jesus 
set himself to establish an inward, personal kingdom, 
which he considered as already in the world, and which 
would gradually leaven all human relations and insti- 
tutions. Wealth and poverty occupy a large place in 
Jesus' teaching. The work which he proposes for him- 
self and his followers is redemptive: to seek and save 
the lost — to change moral outcasts into responsible 
members of society, to recover wrecked physical man- 
hood, to open for all the abundant life. The spirit 

* Op. cit., 343 et passim. 

t The Spir. Life, Chap. V. 

^Luke 6:46-49; Matt. 7:21-27. 

§ Luke 4:16-21; based on Isa. 61:1-3. 

[428] 



CONVERSION 

of democracy is to characterize the new social order.* 
A practical love for one's fellows will be its dominant 
note. The promise of the future is not to the rich and 
powerful, but to the common man.f One's place in 
the future life depends on the cultivation of right social 
relationships.:): 

During the Roman and medieval periods this note 
in the teaching of Jesus was largely obscured. Chris- 
tianity took on an other-worldliness foreign to the 
spirit of its Master. While the new religion was an im- 
portant factor in civilizing the barbarian nations of 
Europe and laying the foundations of the modern dem- 
ocratic movement, its social activity chiefly spent itself 
in various works of charity. Outside of the institution 
of chivalry, the prevailing type of piety was essentially 
feminine. 

The evangelical movements of the eighteenth cen- 
tury brought a new social impulse, but rather in the 
direction of saving individuals (at home, and later in 
heathen lands) from a life that would bring future 
punishment. The emphasis was laid, and is still laid 
in many quarters, upon heavenly rather than upon 
earthly relations, upon emotion and contemplation 
rather than upon activity. This is shown by Christian 
hymnology. Women have been largely in the majority 
in the membership of evangelical churches. The lack 
of the social note has undoubtedly estranged many 
virile men of all classes. The Socialist Movement, 



* Matt. 23 :i-i2. 

fMatt. 5:5. 

$ Matt 25 :i4-46. 



[429] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

though probably originating in Christianity, has grown 
up independent of and largely hostile to organized 
religion. 

The striking characteristic of modern Christianity, 
particularly in England and America, has been the re- 
turn to the social emphasis of Jesus himself. The 
Protestant churches are now taking the lead, not only 
in philanthropy, but also in all movements for social 
reform and reconstruction. A new outlet has been 
given to religious experience along the line of practical, 
altruistic activity. The recent Men and Religion 
Movement witnesses to this. The new emphasis is on 
the community as a whole, and on the individual as a 
member of the community. In this spirit religious men 
are beginning to attack the problem of poverty, of a 
living wage, of sanitation and housing, of crime, of 
intemperance and sexual vice. Social settlements are 
found in most of our larger cities. The Salvation 
Army and similar agencies are working, not simply to 
convert the outcast, but to find work for him, to train 
him, to build him up into a complete social unit. The 
foreign missionary movement, which has grown to such 
large proportions, now has a similar aim in its work 
for backward races in other lands. 

All that needs to be emphasized here is the fact that 
this modern social crusade is social because it is reli- 
gious. It originates as a religious faith, which, like 
faith in other directions, tends to bring about its own 
realization. When men pray for the progress of a 
spiritual Kingdom of God on earth, they commit them- 

[430] 



CONVERSION 

selves to such progress, they acquire a new confidence 
and enthusiasm, an ability to follow out in conscious 
activity the social impulses which rise above the thresh- 
old. The activity itself tells us nothing as to the 
origin of such impulses — whether they are psychological 
or supernatural to psj'chology. 



[431] 



T 



CHAPTER XXIV 

THE RELIGIOUS HYPOTHESIS 

HE question which confronted us in Chapter XV, 
as we sought to interpret the psychical group of 
phenomena, was this: is there mind in the universe 
apart from brain? The evidence, as far as it goes, 
indicates that organism, or at least brain, is found only 
on this planet. Two explanations are possible. First, 
the human mental phenomena, whose laws furnish the 
subject-matter of psychology, might be considered to 
be unique in the universe. Second, the mental life of 
man might be largely independent of brain and related 
to other unconditioned mind or minds. 

Neither of these theories could be considered an in- 
duction, resting on known fact. We were led, indeed, 
to draw the inference that mind on this planet, and 
the lower forms of life through which it has come, must 
be derived originally from mind elsewhere in the uni- 
verse. But this was a presumption merely; it could 
be nothing more. Philosophy still lacked the materials 
with which to construct a satisfactory explanation of 
being. 

What contribution does religion bring to the solution 
of our problem? Do the religious phenomena so 
far transcend psychology that they give us actual 
knowledge of mind in the universe apart from and 

[ 432 ] 



THE RELIGIOUS HYPOTHESIS 

yet related to the mind conditioned by a human 
brain ? 

What is religion? In the preceding chapters we 
have gathered material bearing on the historical origin 
of this institution, and studied the principal facts of 
religious experience. The facts must be allowed to 
furnish their own explanation. 

Religion is primarily an assumption, a hypothesis, a 
practical explanation of man's relation to the world. 
The working hypothesis of religion is that there exists 
in the universe a controlling mind with which human 
minds are in communication. It is on this general as- 
sumption that the religious man acts, consciously or 
unconsciously. Such a faith inspires his worship, and 
is expressed both in his prayer and in his activity. 
Something of the same faith in the universe is seen in 
other than religious acts, and among men who, in a 
formal sense, cannot be called religious. 

The hypothesis of a spiritual world, as already 
stated, is not a survival from more primitive modes of 
thought. Although by no means universal among civi- 
lized peoples, any more than the sense of beauty or 
harmony is universal (the comparison is literary, not 
philosophical), religion is found today among men of 
the highest intelligence, and has nearly as strong a hold 
upon the educated classes as upon the illiterate or the 
savage. The religious hypothesis is constantly being 
renewed in the experiences of religious people. 

Again, our study has shown that religious experi- 
ences, as such, are not to be considered pathological. 

[433] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

This term must be applied to some of the features 
which occur. Religious hysteria is found among me- 
dieval and modern crowds. St. Teresa's visions may 
have been due to a nervous condition brought about by 
a naturally sickly body, further weakened by asceticism. 
The same may be true of George Fox, whose physical 
constitution, however, seems to have been unusually 
rugged. But hallucination in itself is. not a mark of 
diseased nerves. And in religious leaders generally, 
even in the cases just cited, we have remarked an un- 
usual vigor and balance of mind. Furthermore, this 
increased mentality has been due largely to their reli- 
gious belief and experience. Religion, until it comes 
to border on fanaticism, is conducive to mental health, 
rather than the opposite. 

The religious experience in its totality involves that 
broader "mind" of man which we have seen to include 
not only his conscious life, but still more that vast sub- 
conscious region which, as Professor James has so well 
said, "is the abode of everything that is latent and the 
reservoir of everything that passes unrecorded or unob- 
served. It contains, for example, such things as all 
our momentarily inactive memories, and it harbors the 
springs of all our obscurely motived passions, impulses, 
likes, dislikes, and prejudices. Our intuitions, hypoth- 
eses, fancies, superstitions, persuasions, convictions, and 
in general all our non-rational operations, come from 
it. It is the source of our dreams, and apparently they 
may return to it. In it arise whatever mystical expe- 
riences we may have, and our automatisms, sensory or 

[434] 



THE RELIGIOUS HYPOTHESIS 

motor; our life in hypnotic and 'hypnoid' conditions, if 
we are subjects to such conditions; our delusions, fixed 
ideas, and hysterical accidents, if we are hysteric sub- 
jects; our supra-normal cognitions, if such there be, and 
if we are telepathic subjects. It is also the fountain- 
head of much that feeds our religion. In persons deep 
in the religious life .... the door into this region 
seems unusually wide open; at any rate, experiences 
making their entrance through that door have had em- 
phatic influence in shaping religious history."* 

The philosophical problem which presents itself, es- 
pecially in the subject of communion, is the nature of 
the objective factor in prayer which Miss Strong has 
called the "alter." 

Before entering on a discussion of this problem, it 
will be fitting that we pause for a moment to pay rev- 
erent tribute to religion as an element, even if it should 
prove to be only an ephemeral element, in the sum 
total of reality. To consider the part which the reli- 
gious has played in history may help to give us a truer 
perspective. 

Even if no strictly objective factor in religion could 
be proved ; even if, with the passing of the human race, 
or with a development of knowledge at present un- 
looked for and improbable, an objective factor could 
be disproved, and religion ceased to be, we must still 
look upon it as an element in the story of the universe 
unique and unrivalled. The sunset of religion would 
close a cosmic day of unparalleled splendor. The idea 

* Varieties of Relig. Exper., 484. 

[435] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

of God, constantly changing in form, sometimes ig- 
nobly anthropomorphic, but rising ever higher and 
clearer with the advancement of the race, until it com- 
bines all that is best in human character and achieve- 
ment, raised to the plane of the universal and abiding, 
must stand as the highest achievement of man's intel- 
lect. It is religion which has inspired the best that 
has been thought and written and sung and builded. 
To it must be ascribed the noblest developments in hu- 
man character : the self-control, the purity, the honesty, 
the reverence, the faithfulness, the sense of human 
brotherhood, the willingness to sacrifice, to subordinate 
the interests of the individual to those of the race. 
On religion, as a necessary foundation, human govern- 
ments and institutions and cooperations have stood. 
Religion has curbed the passions of men. It has re- 
formed the criminal, and given another chance to the 
despairing. It has freed the slave, and fed the poor; 
it has ministered to the orphan, the idiot, the insane. 
It has lifted backward races and sought to teach every 
human child. It has deposed kings and created the 
royal priesthood of democracy. It has sounded the 
doom of war and militarism. It has demanded, in 
the name of God and of a divine humanity, the aboli- 
tion of monopoly and special privilege, and the equality 
of opportunity. From religion man's chief consolations 
have been drawn. By it his daily life has been guided, 
his sorrows have been made endurable and enriching, 
his sicknesses alleviated or dispelled, his very defeat by 
the inevitable approach of physical dissolution turned 

[436] 



THE RELIGIOUS HYPOTHESIS 

into a song of victory. To ignore the contribution of 
religion to the life of man on this planet would be 
to ignore the life of man itself. 

Returning to the problem before us, the objectivity 
of a cosmic mind, it is obvious that prayer itself takes 
place in consciousness, using that term in a broad sense. 
It is equally obvious that the supposedly divine "other" 
is an object in consciousness. Until a stick or a fire 
or a house or a friend enters our mental life, either 
above or below the threshold, it is not an object for our 
experience. The same is true of a god. But the god to 
whom the worshipper prays, with whom he feels him- 
self to be in communication and communion, may be as 
distinct from the worshipping personality as the fire or 
the friend. Are there any criteria by which we can 
determine whether the god is thus equally objective, 
in a philosophical sense? 

The simplest criterion would be a physical one, 
through the use of our distance receptors, but this is 
clearly not available. Ezekiel no more "sees" Jehovah 
than he sees the wheels with their rims full of eyes. 

Another natural criterion is this. Our friend's men- 
tal life, as far as w T e come to know it, is an element in 
our consciousness, and yet is objective. We know that 
it is objective because we have found it to be, in its 
origin, distinct from mental processes originating in 
other phases of our experience. Our friend has spoken 
to us, revealing his inner thoughts. It is fairly easy 
to distinguish this from our dreams of him, our affec- 
tion, our ideals and hopes. We realize that in certain 

[437] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

definite ways our friend's personality has acted upon 
our own. We have been influenced by him for good 
or evil. We are different from what we should have 
been if this other personality had never entered our 
experience. Does God enter our experience in very 
much the same way? In other words, is He objective? 

The application of this criterion I have attempted 
in the last four chapters. What is the net result? 
Excluding as far as possible, by our rules of evidence, 
the suggestions of the surrounding crowd, of one hu- 
man personality to another, and of a mind to itself, is 
there any evidence for an objective mind acting upon 
the mind of the worshipper? 

In prayer and other sides of communion, the sense 
of the presence of an "other" is remarkably general, 
strong, and persistent. The intellectual form given to 
the object worshipped is undoubtedly shaped by sugges- 
tion through definite education, public worship, reli- 
gious writings, and in other ways. Should we consider 
the "alter" itself merely a projection of our own per- 
sonality, an ideal self demanded by the "me" for its 
completion? Such projection and personification is 
frequent, especially in children. They will invent im- 
aginary companions, and at times exchange parts with 
them. Similar phenomena appear in dreams, in hypno- 
tism, in the cases of secondary personality. The wak- 
ing personality itself we have seen to be the playing of 
a part. But we have also found evidence for a deeper 
personality, which includes both the conscious and the 
subconscious, a "mind" which cannot be resolved into a 

[438] 



THE RELIGIOUS HYPOTHESIS 

mere succession of changing selves. The "alter", how- 
ever much it changes, is the same alter, ever standing 
over against the me. In almost no case does the me 
exchange places with the alter, as with other selves, 
other persona in the drama of individual experience. 
The "other" is always treated as objective, just as the 
personality of our friend is treated as objective. Even 
when Paul says: "I live, and yet not I, but Christ liveth 
in me," his own individuality is not lost in the other, but 
rather heightened by the other's presence and influence. 

The acquirement of new knowledge by the religious 
leader, like other forms of genius, takes place through 
the emergence of subconscious mental resources and ac- 
tivities into the conscious. The process, broadly con- 
sidered, is that of auto-suggestion. If there is 
inspiration in religion, there is very similar inspiration 
throughout the entire mental experience of man. I 
merely note here a tendency in the religious experience 
to render the subconscious resources more readily and 
constantly available. Other things being equal, the 
religious man is likely to do better thinking than the 
non-religious man. Prayer is undoubtedly an aid to 
discernment and organization. This might fairly be 
taken as giving some evidence for a closer touch with 
a cosmic mind, with which all human minds are in 
more or less intimate relation. 

The case is very similar when we consider the 
physical effects of religion. Auto-suggestion is again 
the dominant factor. It is the subconscious, as we have 
seen, which controls functioning and secretion and 

[439] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

metabolism, as far as these are under mental control 
at all. The therapeutic value of prayer and faith sug- 
gests a closer touch with the cosmic mind from which 
the minds on this planet must ultimately have been 
derived, and on whose universal forces and movements 
every organism would necessarily be dependent. 

Perhaps the strongest evidence for such a relation 
is furnished by our study of conversion. In the experi- 
ences of adolescence and of adult life, religious faith 
certainly releases forces of moral illumination and im- 
provement otherwise unutilized. It witnesses to a depth 
of personality, a social nature, a power of social adjust- 
ment, of which psychology can give a description, but 
not an adequate explanation. Puberty and religion are 
associated in the making of the complete man or 
woman. There is much to indicate — what religion as- 
sumes — the presence of a mind in the universe with 
which the subconscious mind of man is in the closest 
possible relation. In the altruistic activities of religion 
man appears to be working successfully for the creation 
of a larger and completer world. Is he working in 
isolation, or, as he believes, in cooperation with a 
higher Power, in harmony with the, universe itself? 

The evidence for an objective personality in religious 
experience, as thus summarized, is indirect and infer- 
ential, rather than direct. Even so, its cumulative 
weight is very considerable. Is it sufficient to justify 
philosophy in using religion as a working hypothesis for 
the explanation of the universe? 

In the answer to this question the determining factor 

[44o] 



THE RELIGIOUS HYPOTHESIS 

must be a consideration of the part which religion has 
played in human history and so in the history of the 
universe. For this no allowance is made by the purely 
psychological explanation of religious phenomena, 
which presents itself as an alternative hypothesis. This 
offers man no practical help in his adjustment to the 
universe. Not only so, but it even destroys, in the very 
act of explaining, such adjustment as is already in prog- 
ress. The moment the worshipper becomes convinced 
that the "other" is merely another aspect of his own 
personality, another grouping of selves, he stops pray- 
ing ; his moral and social achievements are largely at an 
end. The belief that the "other" is, in its origin, 
actually external to his own mind, is the condition of 
his continuance in prayer and other religious exercises 
and efforts. If Jesus had reached such a conviction, he 
would necessarily have dropped the phrase "My 
Father." He must, in common honesty, have given 
up the religious hypothesis which hitherto had guided 
his life. The Lord's Prayer and The Sermon on the 
Mount would never have seen the light. There would 
have been no New Testament, no Christian Church. 
The social and political movements which find their 
source in Christianity never could have arisen, and 
modern civilization would be impossible. 

If narrowly applied, such a consideration as this 
would be unethical from the scientific and so from the 
philosophical standpoint. The destruction of supersti- 
tion by knowledge is no defence of superstition. The 
fact that only an uneducated Roman Catholic would 

[44 1 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

receive benefit from the shrine at Lourdes could not 
be used as an argument for the efficacy of the grotto or 
for the presence of St. Bernadotte. No single religious 
belief is true merely because it has practical value. 

But religion, taken as a whole, may legitimately be 
considered as a process of adjustment to the universe of 
which man finds himself a part. This idea of adjust- 
ment suggested itself repeatedly in our study of reli- 
gious experience. Man is born into an environment, 
partly physical, partly organic, partly social and psy- 
chical. The religious hypothesis is primarily a practi- 
cal one. It is an assumption that the world, and 
especially the psychical part of it, has a cosmic mean- 
ing and connection. It is, further, the assumption that 
adjustment to this wider spiritual universe is possible. 
This practical induction is confirmed by the success 
which has followed such attempts at adjustment. 
Though man's increasing knowledge and control of 
physical and biological forces is largely independent of 
religion, his social adjustments are fundamentally reli- 
gious. Religion is the basis for his ethics, his institu- 
tions, his social passion and progress. On religious faith 
the highest development of the individual is dependent. 

All knowledge, as we saw in our introductory chap- 
ter, is relative, not absolute; experimental rather than 
a priori; a succession of probabilities ; a constant series 
of inductions. The relative truth of the religious 
hypothesis would appear to be shown in the same way 
as the relative truth of the hypothesis that an external 
world exists, or that such a world is governed by nat- 

[ 442 ] 



THE RELIGIOUS HYPOTHESIS 

ural law. To den) 7 the fundamental assumption of sci- 
ence means the death of science and the end of progress 
in the mechanic arts. To deny the religious hypothe- 
sis means the death of religion and the end of progress 
in social and individual betterment. In each case the 
induction is based on experience and confirmed by fur- 
ther experience. In fact, these two disciplines are not 
as far apart as is sometimes thought, either in their 
attitude or in their objective factor. 

Taking the idea of a spiritual universe as a working 
hypothesis, drawn from the personal and largely sub- 
conscious experiences of a great proportion of the race 
and confirmed by the progress of the race itself and 
to some extent by the carefully-sifted evidence as to the 
existence of an external factor in religion, the universe 
and man's relation to it is given a meaning, increas- 
ingly clear and capable of realization. The appear- 
ance of life on this planet, the evolution of man, and 
his cultural history — is no longer a mere "sport" of 
nature, an inexplicable blossoming of reality in the soil 
of a barren cosmos, a meaningless harmony breaking in 
upon the monotone of existence. Man's planetary life 
becomes the key to the understanding of the whole. 
Philosophy for the first time is given a working expla- 
nation of the world in which we live. 

To a sketch of the meaning of the universe, as thus 
interpreted, I devote our closing chapter. Religion, 
having been faithful over a few things, may be set 
over many things, given new provinces of thought to 
rule, if it can rule them well. 

[443] 



CHAPTER XXV 

THE REPUBLIC OF GOD 

/ "~ir v HAT which before was lacking, any actual 
-"- knowledge of mind apart from the human brain 
and nervous system, is now supplied. Religion seems 
to show us that there is actual communication between 
the minds of men and the mind which is external to 
them in the universe. What further inductions may 
be drawn as to the nature of the cosmic mind, which 
religious men call God? 

i. We are justified in saying that this mind is active. 
We know it through its activity, through its constant 
operation in the subconscious experiences of men. It is 
God (if I may so denote it, leaving the connotations of 
that term to be supplied as we proceed) who "thinks" 
with men. The process of inductive reasoning takes 
place in consciousness. The insight into new mean- 
ings and relations, on which induction depends, is pri- 
marily subconscious. On the religious hypothesis the 
discovery of new truth in any sphere, the appreciation 
of beauty and value, the choices and decisions of practi- 
cal life, and even, it may be, second-sight and occa- 
sional prediction and premonition — are the result of 
cooperation between two minds, the cosmic and the 
human. Through this cooperation resources are accu- 
mulated below the threshold of consciousness which 

[444] 



THE REPUBLIC OF GOD 

man alone, or as a mere biological unit, would be un- 
able to gather. That man who, through the attitude 
of faith, is most dependent upon and in harmony with 
God, is best equipped to receive and utilize such re- 
sources. It is this which constitutes inspiration and 
genius, whether religious or literary or scientific, 
whether intellectual or aesthetic or practical. 

It is God who cooperates with the subconscious mind 
in the proper functioning of the organism, in the con- 
trol of metabolism and circulation, in the coordination 
of the nervous system, in the training of the neurones 
of one or the other cerebral hemisphere that the brain 
may become an adequate thinking-machine, in the for- 
mation of habit, in the recuperation of nervous and 
organic energy during the hours of sleep, in the relief 
of nerve tension and the overcoming of hysteria, in the 
exorcising of fear and worry, in the alleviation and 
cure of disease. Such cooperation is evidenced by the 
part which religious faith plays in many of these proc- 
esses. Man is only beginning to realize the extent of 
his opportunities in this direction, as a partner with the 
divine life. It is God who enables a man, through 
what we call telepathy, to control to a certain extent 
the organic and nervous processes of another, whether 
he be present or distant — a power as yet little utilized 
or understood. 

It is God who works with man, through the machin- 
ery of distance-receptors, neurones, organs and muscles, 
to make his daily life a successful adjustment to en- 
vironment, to enable him to control that environment 

[445] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

to a large degree and shape it to his own ends. In 
such an adjustment faith has been an essential factor. 
If it is the divinely-inspired genius who discovers, 
it is the divinely-endowed worker who utilizes physical 
and biological forces. The result has been a constant 
creation and re-creation of the world which occupies 
the surface of this planet. Man found the world sim- 
ple; he has made it complex. That which once was 
hostile has become his servant. The earth has seen 
buildings erected, mountains tunnelled, bridges built; 
land, water and even air conquered for communication ; 
manufactures and arts perfected; water power and 
steam and electricity harnessed; deserts reclaimed 
and marshes drained; plant and animal species 
domesticated, altered, actually created — for the 
service of man. 

In the reproduction of his own species — a process 
partly psychical, partly organic — there is evidence of 
the same cooperation with the cosmic life. Man shares 
with God the sacred responsibility of creation. Reli- 
gion, in its control of the sexual impulse, proves itself 
an indispensable aid to eugenics. 

Providence, however it may be directed by God 
alone, is constantly being shaped by God and man act- 
ing together. The average length of human life is 
being increased through sanitation, improved nutri- 
tion, the restriction of child and woman labor, the 
adoption of safety devices in transportation and dan- 
gerous occupations, the destruction of hostile bacteria 
and their carriers. The conquest of chronic diseases 

[446] 



THE REPUBLIC OF GOD 

is among the possibilities of the future. Every modern 
city has its building regulations and its fire service. 
Even the ravages of flood and earthquake are largely 
neutralized through quick means of communication and 
the aid which is at once rendered by those living in 
more favored localities. Drought and famine in one 
country call out supplies of food from lands of plenty. 
For the course of Providence the race increasingly 
holds itself responsible, in this divinely altruistic age. 
Through that psychical and organic connection with 
God which is natural to every man, and through the 
attitude which religious faith engenders, man proceeds, 
with confidence and resolution, to form his own earthly 
life and that of his fellows. 

God strives with man — not against him but with 
him. The cosmic mind is ever ready to cooperate in 
moral illumination and growth. The closeness of this 
connection is shown in the normal experiences of ado- 
lescence. When the reproductive organs of the youth 
are functioning — a process with which, as I have sug- 
gested, the cosmic life must be directly concerned — the 
divine life is present to direct the functioning of the 
personality as a complete social unit — enlightened, con- 
trolled, unselfish, with a new sense of the presence and 
purpose of God. Conversion in later life appears to 
be merely a case of belated functioning, the formation 
of a new social personality. The surrender of the self 
opens the subconscious mind to the operations of divine 
suggestion. Faith and worship serve the same purpose. 
Prayer is cooperation with a higher power. When 

[447] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

the human and the cosmic mind work in complete har- 
mony, the victory is sure; no habit is too strong to 
break, no virtue unattainable. That God is influ- 
encing the individual, even without conscious religious 
experience, is shown by the moral richness and capacity 
of the total personality, even in the most degraded men, 
when called out by the proper suggestion. It is the 
thought of God which most commonly releases these 
God-given resources and puts them at the service of 
the conscious individual and of the community in which 
he lives. 

God works with man for the service of humanity. 
Social passion and progress are meaningless until trans- 
lated into religious terms. Religion has been their 
inspiration. They are marks of the religious experience 
in its highest development. Altruism means the recog- 
nition of the divine influences constantly acting upon 
the mind of man, but often unknown or unheeded. To 
love one's fellows is to be in harmony with the universe. 
Practical, self-sacrificing service for the community 
brings results in the improvement of the community 
life, because it supplements and is supplemented by the 
activity of God. 

2. We know the cosmic mind as purposeful activity. 
As we study God's operations upon the mind of man, 
we see that a definite end is being attained — the perfec- 
tion of the mind, of the total human personality, as a 
social unit. The development of the physical organism, 
with its complex brain and nervous system, enables the 
adult man to adjust himself with increasing success to 

[448] 



THE REPUBLIC OF GOD 

his earthly environment, physical and social. The 
story of the racial life in that environment shows a 
slow but apparently irresistible progress from savagery 
to civilization. Inspiration is the key to this process; 
those peoples progress that can best utilize their God- 
given resources. With the increasing accumulation of 
ideas the upward movement grows ever more rapid. 
We see the gradual socializing of the individual, as 
civilization advances, the education and improvement 
of an increasing proportion of the population. The 
life-history of the modern man, at his best, reveals 
a growth in knowledge, in resourcefulness, in self-con- 
trol, in symmetry and poise, in the distinctively social 
virtues. The direction of the process, in which God 
has been actively cooperating, marks the general direc- 
tion of God's activity. 

That the aim of the cosmic mind has been the perfec- 
tion of the human individual or of the human species 
is shown by the history of the universe itself, as far as 
we are able to trace it. Though the presence of a 
highly-developed life in other worlds might easily be 
fitted into the conception which philosophy derives 
from religious experience, we do not, as a matter of 
fact, have any evidence of such inhabited worlds. All 
the evidence available points in the opposite direction. 
No other planet in the solar system is fitted for life; 
no other sun is known to have the same planetary sys- 
tem. Thus far our earth is unique in the heavens. 

Modern astronomy, strangely enough, appears to be 
returning to the idea of a geo-centric universe. Our 

[449] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

solar system lies in the center of the stellar world, 
where stars are few and cataclysms infrequent. 
Around it in all directions are the bodies which make 
up the flattened sphere of the physical universe, 
grouped in various systems of clusters and drifts, and 
passing through their cycle of change from nebula to 
sun and from sun to nebula. Circling the universe 
is the vast belt of the Milky Way, with its crowded 
stars, seldom living long enough to pass through more 
than the first stages of stellar evolution. Stupendous 
as the idea seems, the suggestion forces itself upon us 
that the effect of the stellar system, with its countless 
millions of stars, is, by the interaction of gravitational 
forces, to hold our central sun poised in its orbit. 
The uniqueness of our planet, the supreme value of the 
mind of man, the interest of God in man's social his- 
tory — would indicate that, as the physical universe 
exists for the solar system, the solar system exists for 
our planet. Man would thus become the central fact 
in the plan and purpose of the universe. 

To a more detailed study of the divine purpose I 
shall return at a later point. We are at present con- 
cerned rather with the nature of the cosmic mind itself. 

3. We know the cosmic mind as one> not many. 
In our study of the physical sphere of reality, we found 
it to consist of an inconceivably vast number of centers 
of force, in incessant movement, in constantly chang- 
ing relations. These force-centers are not mutually 
independent, but are organized into more or less per- 
manent groupings — as atoms, molecules, masses, heav- 

[45o] 



THE REPUBLIC OF GOD 

enly bodies. These various units constitute an 
interacting system, the uniformity of whose operations 
forms the basis for what we know as natural law. 
This physical system we were compelled to consider as 
a totality, a dynamic unity, a universe. 

When we passed to the organic group we found that 
the appearance of life on this planet can be explained 
only by the presence of life elsewhere in the universe. 
At the same time we noted the close and necessary 
connection between physical phenomena and the phe- 
nomena of life. The organism is physical; it is made 
up of physical units, following their appropriate laws. 
The environment in which it lives is primarily physi- 
cal. In its reaction to that environment the living 
organism, to a certain degree, controls physical forces 
and utilizes physical energies. We were compelled to. 
think of the universe in a wider sense, as comprising 
both energy and life. Because of the interrelation of 
these two factors, w T e may go further and say that the 
universe, or the universal energy, not only follows the 
uniform laws of physical activity, but also the less uni- 
form, more self-directed operations which we note in 
the activity of planetary organisms. 

The study of the psychical group of phenomena, 
with its outgrowth in the religious experience of man, 
enriches but does not essentially alter this conception 
of the universe or of the universal energy. Man is an 
organism, and so is fundamentally physical. The brain 
which he utilizes is a physical machine. Through such 
machinery he controls his own organism and the physi- 

[451] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

cal and biological environment. On the other hand, 
the mental life of man witnesses to a cosmic mind, an 
energy still less uniform in its operations, still more 
self-directed and purposeful, than we could infer from 
the study of lower forms of life. There is no occasion 
to distinguish between the cosmic mind and the uni- 
verse. As a general concept, built out of the facts of 
our experience, the first of these terms is only a further 
definition of the second. God is one, because he is iden- 
tical with the universe. 

4. Is the cosmic mind to be thought of as a person- 
ality? The question is largely one of terms, and this 
term is a rather illusive one. We must be on our 
guard against the error of the a priori philosopher, with 
his conception of the absolute. Into this term, as into a 
juggler's hat, he would pack such abstract and utterly 
meaningless attributes as omnipresence, omnipotence, 
omniscience, and so forth, and then proceed to draw 
out these qualities for the amazement of the vulgar. 
What we are seeking, by our inductive method, is not 
what God might be, in the imagination of some clois- 
tered student, or what God ought to be, according to 
the ideal of the theologian, but what God actually is, 
as shown through our experience. 

With reference to the present question, we know 
God as a unity, comprising all reality with the possible 
exception of organism. We know him as energy. We 
know him as activity, as purposeful activity. This 
purpose is moral and social. The God whom we know 
thinks and strives and achieves with men. If this con- 

[ 452 ] 



THE REPUBLIC OF GOD 

stitutes personality, then God is a personality. It 
would be safe to say that the cosmic mind is at least 
as much of a personality as the "mind" of man. 

5. If God is identical with the universe, our abstract 
friends will ask: "Is he limited by space and time?" 
There is no reason to resurrect the concept of space, 
after the decent burial which we gave it in our fourth 
chapter. It was done to death by the scientific doctrine 
of relativity. Even the measurable relation into which 
we resolved it has no meaning outside of the physical 
sphere of reality, and this, as w T e know, is only a partial 
and, it may be, a passing manifestation of the divine 
activity. 

The concept of time is less easy to deal with. The 
"measurable sequence" of our every-day life can have 
only a physical meaning; the units for its measurement 
are furnished by the passage of light. As we are phy- 
sical organisms, with physical brains, we necessarily 
think of sequence in physical terms. What sequence 
means in other spheres we have at present no basis for 
conceiving or understanding. Any discussion of be- 
ginning or end, of an eternity a quo or an eternity 
ad quem } is on a par with the fairy lore of childhood. 
What we know in the universe is an activity and a 
process. 

6. What is the relation of the cosmic mind to the 
units of biology? We as yet know too little of the 
nature of planetary life to expect a complete and final 
answer to this question. The single-celled protozoon 
is an organism, a grouping of many highly complex 

[453] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

molecules into a whole which has the power of trans- 
forming physical energy, so as to carry on the functions 
of movement, metabolism, reproduction and probably 
variation. The metazoon, lower or higher, is likewise 
an organism. The initiation and control of life-func- 
tions is no longer carried on by the single cell, but by 
all of the cells, or the more important of them, acting 
as a unit. Certain specialized cells or groups of cells 
are Used for certain functions. Apart from the organ- 
ism the cell soon dies, at least in the case of the higher 
animals, because it is not capable of carrying on inde- 
pendently the processes necessary for life. 

The unity and self-direction of the organism seems 
to indicate a certain independence of the universal 
life, which might be said to have limited itself in the 
creation of life on this planet in order to carry out a 
higher purpose. That purpose we have seen to be the 
creation and perfection of man. 

The whole history of evolution bears out this infer- 
ence as to the independence of organisms, and it may 
therefore be considered a legitimate induction. Or- 
ganic evolution is essentially different from the evolu- 
tion of the stars, for instance. The latter is constant, 
certain, uniform. The former is intermittent, uncer- 
tain, go-as-you-please. Given definite materials and 
forces, the astronomer could predict the exact course 
and duration of the condensation of the nebula into a 
sun, its rise in temperature through contraction, its 
cooling into a dark star. Given an evening primrose 
in a perfectly definite environment, not even de Vries 

[454] 



THE REPUBLIC OF GOD 

could predict that it would mutate, or what particular 
mutations would arise. 

To use a simple parable — it would seem as if God 
said to the protozoon : "I have endowed you with cer- 
tain powers. I have given you this environment, partly 
favorable, partly hostile. See w T hat you can make of 
yourself. Rise; I will help you." Millions of years 
passed. The original protozoon assumed many differ- 
ent forms, but still it was but a single cell, capable of 
only the simplest functions. The Great Biologist 
watched and waited. And at last his patience was re- 
warded. One of the protozoa became a colony of cells ; 
the colony became a many-celled organism. And to the 
first metazoon God said : "See what you can make of 
yourself. Rise; I will help you." Through the ages 
the Master Mind watched the evolution of plant and 
animal forms — now forward through rapid and suc- 
cessful mutation — until the species which showed such 
promise became over-specialized or unsuited to its en- 
vironment and yielded its proud place to some humbler 
species better fitted to advance. The vertebrates came 
at last, the mammals. Was the end at hand? To the 
first anthropoidea the Master spoke the same challenge : 
"Rise; I will help you." The monkey came, the giant 
ape, mightier than any animal that had gone before. 
But again there was over-specialization. The chance 
was gone ; the door of progress was closed. But soon, 
in one of the still generalized anthropoidea, there came 
another series of mutations. A new species arose, 
walking erect, with more complex brain, using its new- 

[ 455 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

found hands, fond of play, gregarious, hunting and 
fighting in packs, communicating by rude sounds. The 
Master listened. "My little child has said its first 
word," he said. 

Beyond some such figurative description we cannot 
go, in the present state of our knowledge, especially 
on the subject of variation. That God was concerned 
in the process is clear. From him life must have 
come. He furnished the environment; he was the 
environment. We must think of him as cooperating 
with organism at every stage of the process. All the 
power of the universe was on the side of the individual 
which started to rise. That the cosmic mind left to 
the organism itself much of the direction of the proc- 
ess — even perhaps the control of mutation, on which 
the whole process depended — is suggested not only by 
the ups and downs of the evolutionary process itself, 
but by the useless characters found in almost all species 
and by the presence of many forms of living creatures 
actually harmful to man. 

7. This conception is of the greatest value when we 
pass to a more detailed consideration of the relations 
between the cosmic mind and the minds of men. Like 
other organisms, man is a unit — self-directed, self- 
adjusting, capable of activity and control. The human 
individual stands in much the same relation to the uni- 
verse as the individual of the lower species. He is 
independent of God, though in closest touch with him. 
The cosmos in this sense is plural, not singular. Many 
millions of minds today, countless billions of minds in 

[456] 



THE REPUBLIC OF GOD 

the course of history, have been cooperating with the 
Master Mind in the divine purpose — the creation and 
perfection of the human race. 

Is the concern of the cosmic mind with the race or 
with the individual? What is it that has inspired the 
marvellous complexity of the physical universe, the ev- 
olution of the stellar system, the preparation of this 
planet for life, the evolution of organic forms until the 
climax is reached in man? Has the purpose ever gov- 
erning the divine activity been the gradual perfecting 
of society as a whole, or of the individual units which 
compose society ? We see both processes going forward 
in the course of history. Is it possible for us to deter- 
mine which of the two has been dominant? 

The divine purpose is certainly not the further per- 
fecting of the human species along physical lines. The 
end has been reached; organic evolution is closed as 
far as man is concerned. Such mutations as still occur, 
in stature, complexion, physiognomy, make no essential 
difference in man's physical structure or in his relation 
to the environment. The Australian, though another 
elementary species than the Frenchman or the English- 
man, has equal powers of adjustment and development. 
The differences between races and between individual 
men are those of opportunity, of training, of mental 
accumulation and habit. 

God's dealings with the race have been through the 
individual. It is the inspiration of the individual 
genius which has discovered new truth, made advances 
in the arts, founded and improved human institutions. 

[457] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

It is with the individual that God has striven and 
loved and labored. Having the universe as his environ- 
ment, with the cosmic energy ever ready to supplement 
his own feeble efforts, with the divine mind to suggest 
and reveal, each man has been responsible for his own 
advance or decline. While the race as a whole has 
progressed, at least as far as accumulation is concerned, 
the individuals start at the same level. Their progress 
is not inherent and assured. They may accept their 
responsibilities in Central Asia, as in civilized America. 
They may shirk their responsibilities and become social 
parasites as easily in London as in Athens or Babylon, 
in the Amazon wilderness or the Andaman Islands. It 
seems clear that the activity of God has been directed 
toward the perfecting of the individual rather than of 
the race. 

It is equally clear, however, that the improvement of 
the community has been a most important— indeed, an 
essential — factor in the improvement of the individual. 
Man's training has been as a member of society, never 
in isolation. Adolescence and the accompanying reli- 
gious experience mark the socializing of the child, the 
development of a complete social unit. The unsocial 
child or man is the incomplete child or man. Social 
responsibilities call out the best that is in him. The 
further evolution of the human species has been the 
evolution of environment. The civilized man is 
more likely to advance than the savage; he may 
reach a vastly greater mental and moral develop- 
ment. To improve social conditions, to eliminate evil 

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THE REPUBLIC OF GOD 

surroundings, to give the child or the savage a 
better chance in life — all the altruistic movement of 
modern times, in which God is so closely cooperating 
— makes for individual growth and betterment. The 
purpose of God's activity may be further defined as 
the perfecting of the individual through the evolution 
of a higher social order. 

8. Let us look more closely at the mind of man with 
which the cosmic mind is in relation. Above the 
threshold we see the waking personality, slowly learn- 
ing its part. That part is largely the adjustment to a 
physical environment. For such adjustment the con- 
scious person makes use of his distance-receptors, his 
brain, his nervous and organic machinery. With con- 
stant aid from beneath the threshold of consciousness, 
constant drawing on his subconscious resources, 
he learns to play his part and play it well. He comes 
to know and control his environment, as material civili- 
zation bears witness. He mingles with his fellows as 
a member of a complex social order. But his horizon 
is an earthly horizon. He thinks largely in physical 
terms. With the wearing out of the physical organ- 
ism, his adjustment becomes incomplete and uncertain. 
Death is the end of the play. Man must needs lay 
down his part as an organism, as a waking person- 
ality who uses his physical brain to see and hear and 
respond. 

Beneath the threshold is the vast realm of mental 
activity which w T e are beginning to know as the sub- 
conscious. It is here that the experiences of the waking 

[ 459 ] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

personality are registered and matured. The subcon- 
scious is the seat of memory. It is the source of habit. 
It is the fountain-head of discovery, of emotion, of 
resolution. Here are found powers and virtues unrec- 
ognized by the waking personality or by one's fellow 
actors. In this realm man spends one-third of his life, 
while the curtain of the earthly theater is drawn. In 
the market-place of the subconscious, man meets other 
mindsj influences them and is influenced by them. 
Here, as in a royal presence-chamber, he meets his 
God, hears the voice of divine suggestion, enters into 
alliance with the universe. This deeper mind grows 
richer with the passing years. The decline of the 
physical organism may cut off news as to the drama 
that is being acted, haltingly and feebly now, in the 
outer world, but it in no way diminishes the resources 
of the life within. When the curtain falls — in the very 
hour of death the mind of man frequently exerts its 
most powerful influence upon the mind of others, in 
greeting or monition. That such communication does 
not end at death is suggested by the rapidly-accumulat- 
ing evidence (though not by the direct experiments) of 
psychical research. 

The perfecting of the individual is the perfecting, 
not primarily of the incomplete and ephemeral waking 
personality, but of the larger and deeper mind below 
the threshold. Except for its education through the 
activities of the conscious personality, this mind appears 
to be no more dependent on a physical organism than 
is the cosmic mind itself. The purpose of God is the 

[ 4 6o] 



THE REPUBLIC OF GOD 

training of the "mind" and the development of its 
latent powers. 

9. In the spiritual universe, which includes both the 
cosmic mind and the minds of men, there is the begin- 
ning of a higher social order — a republic to use Elisha 
Mulford's phrase — in which God may find his fullest 
satisfaction and man his complete development. This 
diviner order is still ideal. It requires for its realiza- 
tion the cooperation of men. The creation of a spirit- 
ual universe is still in progress. But it has begun. 
Even during his earthly life, the human mind is shar- 
ing, conciously or unconsciously, in the making of man, 
in the discovery of his own powers, in the shaping of a 
social environment. 

The universe, as far as our fragmentary and imperfect 
experience enables us to picture it, begins as a cosmic 
mind, unorganized, unsocial, but capable of organiza- 
tion and filled with a social hope and plan and power. 
The cosmic mind organizes itself in the dependent 
units of the physical universe : in those centers of force 
which we know as electrons, in those groups of such 
centers which, through their relations, we know as 
atoms and molecules and masses and stars. The cos- 
mic mind limits itself as the universe further unfolds. 
It limits itself first in the semi-independent units of 
biology: in the cell and the organized group of cells, 
which are closely related to the physical units and pass 
back into the physical, or perhaps merely cease to be 
as their peculiar relations cease. The universe consists 
now of many separate lives, and yet is still, in a sense, 

[461] 



THE UNFOLDING UNIVERSE 

one life. With the evolution of man the cosmic mind 
further limits itself. The universe comes to be a repub- 
lic — no longer one mind but man)' — a spiritual order 
in which each man holds citizenship and to which he 
owes allegiance. 

The religious hypothesis has guided us hitherto in 
our philosophical interpretation of the world of reality, 
suggesting to our thought meanings and relations that 
we could not otherwise have obtained. It is in the 
presence of an uncompleted and still ideal universe that 
religion faces, and meets I believe successfully, its su- 
preme test. To each man born on this planet comes 
the call and the opportunity to take his place in a 
higher spiritual order, to become in his character and 
his aim, in his knowledge and his satisfactions, like the 
Master Mind whom we call God. Will he take the 
place which may be his, not merely as a member of a 
spiritual republic on earth, progressively realizing the 
plans of God for humanity's physical and social train- 
ing-ground and for humanity itself, but also in that 
wider world of mind in which the physical is no longer 
necessary or useful ? Or will he, now or in the world 
beyond, fail of his calling and sink back, like the mere 
unit of biology that he is in part, into the universe 
from which he has come? 

It is in enabling man to take his place in the Repub- 
lic of God that religion shows its abiding worth. It 
proves itself the key to the meaning of the universe, 
because it is the practical means of realizing that mean- 
ing. Faith is the evidence of things unseen, because it 

[462] 



THE REPUBLIC OF GOD 

is ever giving substance to things hoped for. Through 
man's cooperation with God the higher order comes to 
be a fact of our daily life, the work of creation goes 
forward, and our hope glimpses an unlimited future 
progress. Faith is the portal of the highest reality. 
Religious experience unlocks a door that, once it is 
opened by the aspiring and achieving mind, no power 
may close again. 

Such is the universe, and it doth not yet appear what 
it will be. 



[463] 



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